


Bygones

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-17
Updated: 2003-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A week after the end ofCharade, something happens that forces Justin to find Brian. With the help of a good friend he finally does. But with Brian and Justin things are never quite that easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“You want coffee, honey?” 

 

I open my eyes to find Emmett looking at me with a forced smile on his face, and four paper cups in his hands. Dark circles are under his eyes and he tries his best not to cry. Tries to be strong for all of us, knowing somehow that if he starts to fall apart, we won’t hold together much longer either. And it’s the last thing Mel needs right now. 

 

I slowly shake my head, “No, thanks. I feel as if caffeine will be coming out of my ears any moment now.” 

 

He chuckles slightly, but it ends on a sob. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes instantly. “I made a promise to myself not to fall apart. Even if it’s only for Mel’s sake.” He turns his head and his gaze lands on the huddled figure in the corner. She seems smaller and more fragile than usual. Not that Mel ever looked really fragile. But she isn’t the biggest woman either, and if you don’t know her you could get the impression – especially right now. 

 

“I can’t believe there’s still no news.” Debbie joins us where we’re standing, and takes two cups from Emmett, handing one over to Carl who’s followed her. He, who’s usually shining with all the blond hair – lighter even than mine – looks as tired and worn out as we all do. But he still manages to give her a smile, ever the faithful son-in-law. 

 

“There was so much blood,” Carl says, gulping down half the cup. “I never saw so much blood in my life. I thought Michael was gonna faint.” Emptying the cup, he adds, “I almost did.” I would’ve fainted in his place. He and Michael were with Lindsay when the whole mess started. Just the thought of Linds bleeding all over me. I feel suddenly nauseous, but swallow it down. There’s no way I can just start vomiting all over the hospital hallway. 

 

“You were a real trouper,” Debbie comments, patting his arm affectionately. 

 

“I … I still don’t understand what happened,” I admit, trying to decide if another cup of coffee might kill me. Ever since Chris Hobbs bashed me in the head, my tolerance level for caffeine’s been pretty low. It doesn’t really matter under normal circumstances, but just sipping at something warm right now might soothe my nerves, and unfortunately the hospital doesn’t offer anything hot besides coffee that doesn’t taste like poison. “There were no complications when Gus was born,” I add, trying to come to terms with the recent events. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Brian disappeared without a trace. 

 

“She was more than five years younger then,” Deb says thoughtfully. “Advanced age can be a great risk. Besides, remember what the doctor said. It was an unpredictable complication. Nobody could anticipate a placenta abruption.” 

 

Placenta abruption. Such a medical term. Sounds almost sterile. But when one of your closest friends is bleeding her life away in an emergency room because her placenta tore away from the uterus, all you want to do is scream and rage at the unfairness of it all. You want to shout at the Gods, even if you don’t believe in them, want to hit something. But you do nothing. You just stand there, damned to wait and hope that fate won’t be that cruel, that those two little children will not lose their mother. 

 

“I could kill that selfish little shit for disappearing just when he’s needed most,” Debbie grinds out through gritted teeth. Guiltily she quickly averts her gaze, and sips from her coffee. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I know you miss him,” she mumbles. 

 

“It’s okay,” I reply, not wanting to get into a discussion about Brian right now. It’s not the time and place. And we will never agree anyway. Deb and the others will never stop blaming him for leaving. And I will never stop defending him. But then, I read his letter, I saw the pain and desolation in his eyes the night at my mother’s house before he walked out on me. Peter says that I made the effort to try and understand him, while his friends never even bothered, and after I spent an afternoon at Deb’s house with all of them, I tend to agree. 

 

I know it doesn’t sound fair. Especially after the way Michael was always there for Brian, and all the years Debbie opened her house and heart to him. But even though they’ve known him for so much longer than I have, they hardly seem to know him at all. They were ready to blame him, called him selfish, and I can’t count how many times Mel used the word asshole during the two hours. Lindsay was sobbing quietly, and cursing Brian for leaving her. 

 

Jesus, you would think they were married. If I didn’t know better, and if I wasn’t sure that Linds is a lesbian, I would feel inclined to think that she’s secretly still in love with Brian, deep down hoping against hope that he might wake up and find that Linds is what he’s been waiting for his whole life. 

 

I was glad Peter was there or I might have lost it. I hadn’t slept the whole night, had been lying on Brian’s bed in the loft, trying to accept that he was gone, and most probably wouldn’t come back. So I wasn’t really in any shape to face the execution squad, but knew it had to be done. As much as I hated the whole thing, I knew his friends deserved some kind of explanation, and by leaving me a letter, Brian had obviously chosen me to give it. Not that I really understand what happened, but I could at least give them the facts. 

 

I should probably be angry with Brian for doing that to me, but I couldn’t. Not after I had looked into those hopeless eyes, not after I had read the letter time and again. 

 

I knew Michael was dying to know the contents, but he will never know. The letter is private, and for good reason I didn’t take it with me when I attended the meeting. We finally decided not to have it in Peter’s office, but in Deb’s house and Peter instantly agreed to come. He sat by my side, explaining things when my voice caught on a sob, or when I just couldn’t find the strength to go on. And I looked at him when I told them that Brian wanted me to live in the loft, that he’d left it to me to use it the way I wanted. 

 

There were still a lot of questions when I left Deb’s house, but I just couldn’t answer them anymore. All I wanted was to return to the loft and to be on my own. I called my mom when I got there and told her that I would move out the next day. She wasn’t happy with it, but accepted it without discussion. She’s learned a lot these past days, and I have a feeling we’ll get along a lot better in the future. I have to thank Brian for it, and for that I’ll always be grateful. 

 

The problem is, he quite obviously doesn’t see it that way. Or he wouldn’t have left. Wouldn’t have written the lines that seem engraved in my head. 

 

 

Dear Justin, 

 

I know I’m taking the coward’s way out, but I honestly don’t see any other way. I feel like a caged lion, with the walls closing in on me. If I don’t leave now it might end badly, and I don’t want that. 

 

As you might have realized already, I’m leaving the Pitts. When you find this letter I’ll probably be already far away. Right now I don’t know where, but I’m sure I’ll find a place to stay. I’m still a partner at the firm, my being gone doesn’t change that, so there’ll be no shortage of money for a while. The loft will of course, be empty, and I’d be happy if you just moved in. Use it as if it were your own, I think the windows create quite a good light for painting. I know you’ve got the studio, but with artists you never know when the mood will strike. I can already picture you painting at night, your pale body gleaming in the moonlight 

 

More than anything else, I wish I could give you what you deserve, but unfortunately that’s not in my power. And I don’t want you to spend your love on a lost cause like me, a man who can’t give you anything in return. We would only end up hating each other, and watching you walk away again would kill me for sure. I hardly survived the first time. I made myself believe it was for the best, for your best, and learned to live with it. To find out what Ethan did to you almost tore me apart. I’m so sorry for making the mistake of believing he was what you needed. And I’m perfectly aware that you might not have needed him if it hadn’t been for me. You wanted me to love you, and I couldn’t. I’m not going to hurt you like that again. 

 

But I also know that if I stayed around you, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. I seem drawn to you by some invisible force I’m not able to control. I knew what was going to happen the moment I stepped inside your mother’s house the day of the wake. And I thought it was alright. That maybe now, after you had had this wonderful relationship you’d always wanted, you could maybe deal with something less … perfect. But now that I know what you went through, I can’t see it that way anymore. 

 

If I stayed I would only hurt you, and probably worse than before. I could never live with that knowledge. So I’m leaving. And maybe, away from Pittsburgh, away from painful memories, I can find a way to find myself, to find a way to accept what I am. I hope you will find the love you’ve always longed for. It’s what you deserve, and I don’t want to stay in the way. 

 

Please don’t search for me. Right now I’m not sure I could resist you if you came and it would destroy me, destroy us, in the end. 

 

I talked to my attorney, and he drew up a contract that gives you power of attorney where the loft is concerned. Same goes for the stuff I left. It’s up to you what to do with it. You can sell it, give it away, or just throw it in the trash for all I care. 

 

I’m sorry I hurt you, Justin. It’s one of the great regrets in my life. The other is that I’ll probably never see my daughter. But it can’t be helped right now. I wouldn’t be a father she’d be proud of. She’s better off with Mel anyway. As for Gus, tell him … whatever you think would be right to tell him. Maybe you could tell him I’ll miss him always. And that I’ll always be proud of him. He’s the best thing I ever did, and I’m so glad he’s loved and protected by his adoring parents. 

 

If you see the gang, tell them that I … just couldn’t change what I feel. I know Mikey’ll be angry, and Deb’ll never forgive me for leaving but right now it can’t be helped. I left letters for Linds and Mikey with my attorney. He’s going to deliver them in a few weeks. 

 

I don’t know how much it counts, but from a selfish point of view, I’m very glad you came into my life. One very special night gave me two very special people. 

 

You’ll always be in my thoughts. 

Brian 

 

 

I cried after I turned off the phone, the reality of Brian being gone finally catching up with me. It was draining but in a way it was also a relief. And I felt better afterwards. Three days later I managed to move my stuff into the loft, with the help of Michael, Carl and Emmett. Ted was out of town for some porn convention or something, and inwardly I was glad. I always liked Ted, but he was never very fond of Brian and I didn’t want to hear any of his snippy remarks. Or see his ‘I-told-you-so’ look. 

 

“Miss Marcus?” 

 

The female voice pulls me from my thoughts and when I look up I see a doctor approaching us. Mel is on her feet, wiping her tear streaked face, “That’s me.” 

 

“You’re Miss Peterson’s partner?” The doctor, a woman in her forties, stops in front of us, her voice and eyes gentle. “I’m Doctor Harrow.” 

 

“Yes,” Mel replies, and gives Deb a grateful look when the older woman reaches for her hand. “How is she?” 

 

“First of all, the baby is fine. Well, as it can be expected in cases like this. It’s a beautiful girl. Seven pounds, two ounces.” She smiles, “She’s quite a handful.” I can’t quite suppress the thought that she obviously takes after her father. I have to smile as well. It’s the first genuine smile since the day Brian had left Pittsburgh. I can hardly wait to see his daughter. Another part of him, apart from Gus, that’s not going to go away. 

 

But then the doctor grows serious and dread settles in my gut. “As you know already, Miss Peterson suffered from a placenta abruption when she was brought here. There were no further complications, but she lost a lot of blood and a C-section was necessary. We discovered then that apart from the abruption there was also a tear in the right uterus wall. We managed to sew it up, so we didn’t have to remove the whole organ.” 

 

“Wh-what about Lindsay?” Mel is barely keeping herself together, and I can see her knuckles turn white on the hand that still holds Deb’s. 

 

“She’s in critical condition.” The doctor takes a deep breath, “There is no easy way to say it, but … I’m afraid Miss Peterson’s slipped into a coma.” 

 

I compress my lips, while Mel sags against Deb. I can hear Emmett sobbing softly behind me, and Michael and Carl embrace, giving each other strength. I wish Brian were here, too. What I wouldn’t give to feel his arms around me right now, feel his body heat, his strength, his love. He might not believe he’s able to love someone, but I could feel it nevertheless. 

 

“What does that mean?” Deb seems to be the only one who is still able to speak. 

 

“It means that because of the blood loss, her system shut down. It happens in cases like this. All we can do now is wait. I know it sounds cruel, but there isn’t a lot we can do. Her body has to heal, and she has to wake up on her own.” 

 

“Or she could never wake up?” Michael has straightened beside me and is looking intently at the doctor. 

 

Doctor Harrow nods slowly, “That’s certainly a possibility, but lets hope it won’t come to that. A coma isn’t something bad in itself.” She gives us an encouraging smile, “It’s as if the body is taking a time-out. Most of the patients pull out of it.” 

 

“But some don’t, right?” Michael wants to know. 

 

“Michael, that’s enough,” Deb interrupts sharply, nodding at Melanie, who is sobbing in her arms. Then she turns her head to the woman in the white coat, “Thank you so much, Dr. Harrow. Is it possible to see the baby?” 

 

Dr Harrow smiles, “Of course. She should be all cleaned up by now. Would you please follow me?” 

 

While we walk through the hallways, she looks at Deb and Mel. “There is, however, a little problem. With Miss Peterson in a coma, I need to talk to the baby’s other parent.” 

 

Mel stops dead in her tracks. “I am Lindsay’s partner, and-“ 

 

“I know,” Dr. Harrow replies gently. “I’m not doubting your right to see the baby or anything, Miss Marcus. Please don’t misunderstand me, this has nothing to do with homophobia. But I’m bound by laws. The law says that, unless there is some other legal arrangement, the person responsible now is the baby’s father.” 

 

“The father isn’t around,” Mel says acidly. 

 

“Are you going to tell me that the baby is the result of an anonymous insemination?” Doctor Harrow raises a brow. “Miss Peterson told me just before we started surgery that the father was a Mr. Kinney.” 

 

I feel as if I’m being punched right into my gut. Brian. “He … he left Pittsburgh about a week ago,” I say. 

 

“Then you should contact him. As long as Miss Peterson is unconscious, he’s responsible for the child. If he isn’t available ...” she trails off and shrugs a little helplessly. 

 

“You … you mean,” Mel swallows hard, “that I can’t take my daughter home, just because the father isn’t here?” 

 

“We don’t have to think about that right now,” Dr Harrow tries to keep her voice as gentle as possible. “The baby-girl will stay at the hospital for at least another week. She’s well developed, but with the stress at birth her lungs were affected-“ 

 

“But you said the baby was fine,” Mel’s lips compress to a thin line and a heavy frown settles on her forehead. 

 

“She is,” Dr. Harrow gives her an encouraging smile. “But while the placenta tore away she must have swallowed some fluid. She has to have treatment to remove it from her lungs, to make sure no infection will settle in them. So we’re keeping her to avoid any complications before we release her. If we’re lucky, Miss Peterson will be awake by then, anyway.” 

 

“But you don’t really believe she will,” Deb says and it’s not a question. The answer is clearly visible on the doctor’s face. 

 

Doctor Harrow looks at us calmly, “It’s hard to say with cases like this. As I said, she might wake up tomorrow. Or next week. Or in a month. It’s not predictable. Anyway, I will have the nurse bring the baby now. You can see her through the window in a moment. And if you have any questions, I’ll be in the doctor’s lounge later. It’s down the hall, the last door on the right.” With a smile she’s gone, leaving us all speechless for a moment. 

 

But just for a moment, because without warning, Melanie whirls around and gets right into my face, “You get him here, do you hear me? I want him here. It’s just so like him. He’s never around when he’s needed. Selfish prick.” 

 

Taken aback by her unexpected attack, I take a step back, not sure how to react. 

 

“Now, now,” Deb gathers a sobbing Melanie up in her arms. Holding her close, she soothingly strokes the woman’s back. 

 

“But she’s right,” Michael argues, and I wonder how much of his reaction is really selfless. “Brian needs to come back.” 

 

“We don’t even know where he went,” Carl argues. 

 

“You know, don’t you.” Eyes blazing with deep emotions Michael turns to me. “You have the letter. I’m sure he told you where he went.” 

 

“No,” I shake my head, backing away against the wall. “The letter is … he wrote private stuff. He didn’t tell me where he wanted to go.” 

 

“I don’t believe you,” Michael shouts, and tries to shake off Carl’s hand, as Carl pulls him away from me. “Let me go!” 

 

“No, stop it, Michael,” Carl says firmly. “I’m sure Justin would never keep it from us.” 

 

“I really don’t know,” I give them a helpless look. “Really. I swear.” 

 

“We believe you, Sunshine,” Debbie gives me a slight smile. “But we need to find him. I’m sure Linds will wake up soon, but just in case,” she adds, with a glance at Mel in her arms. The sobbing has stopped, but she’s still sniffling. I never saw her fall apart like this before. But then, Lindsay’s life wasn’t in danger before, either. 

 

I look at Deb. I know she is right, but I have not the slightest idea what to do. Where would Brian go? Where are we supposed to start looking? Helplessly I lift my shoulders, “But how?” 

 

“Michael,” Debbie gazes at her son. “Did you and Brian ever talk about something?” 

 

“About what?” he asks defiantly. 

 

His mother shrugs, “ A place, where he always wanted to go, or … You’re his best friend for God’s sake. If you don’t know, who should?” 

 

“What about him?” he asks, nodding at me. “He’s the one Brian trusted. Not me.” 

 

“This is no time for your hurt feelings,” Debbie looks at her son angrily. “I can’t believe you’re still harboring this kind of petty jealousy!” 

 

“Petty!” Michael gasps indignantly. 

 

“Yes, petty,” Deb tells him firmly. “Lindsay’s in a coma! You’re disappointing me, Michael. I thought you’d finally grown out of this. Don’t you care what Carl feels when he has to listen to you?” 

 

Carl raises his hand, “Hey, I’m cool.” 

 

“I know you are, but that’s not the point. The point is that we need to find Brian. As soon as possible. We need to work together here.” 

 

“I’m going to find him,” I say, deciding that I’d rather do this on my own than work with Michael, especially with his current attitude. “At least I’m going to try.” As much as I hate to go against Brian’s wishes, I can see that he’s needed here. 

 

“Thank you, Justin,” Mel looks at me now. “I’m sorry for … you know.” She tries a smile and fails, but I understand. 

 

Stroking her arm, I smile, “It’s okay. I’ll make a few phone calls.” With that I turn away, and walk down the hallway, glad to get away from my friends for a moment, especially glad to escape Michael’s jealousy. God, I can’t believe he reacted that way. But obviously I misjudged the level of resentment he still feels. 

 

Pressing the familiar number, I wait for a moment, before the other side answers. “Myrtle,” I say, “it’s Justin. I need to talk to Peter.”


	2. Bygones

I’m not sure if I should be glad or annoyed or even angry when I see who is standing in front of my door at ten o’clock in the morning. “Justin,” I say, because nothing else comes to my mind. I realize that I don’t even know the boy’s last name. Did he mention it the last time we met? Or did Brian, when he introduced the boy all those years ago? No, not a boy. He is a man now. But I can still see the boy, dressed in sweat-pants, his hair tousled, his smile a little uncertain. 

 

“Mrs. Kinney,” he smiles at me, and we shake hands. “Can we … I mean, would it be okay for me to come in? To talk.” The uncertainty I remember is back in his eyes. In a way he’s still that boy. I wonder if men ever outgrow the phase completely. 

 

Even though I would love to say no, I can’t. Partially because I was brought up that way, always to be polite, always to keep up appearances, but also because a part of me is interested in what the young man has to say. It’s been over a week since we met at the restaurant, and I still think back on it with a shudder. All those men, and to think what they’re doing … I force a smile on my face, “Of course,” I step back and he follows me into the living-room. “Can I get you something? I just made fresh coffee.” 

 

“No, thanks,” he declines politely. I know he comes from the upper middle class, and it shows. We never quite made it there. Not even close. “I already had too much coffee last night.” 

 

Last night? I look at him closely and for the first time see the lines of fatigue on his boyish features, the dark circles underneath his very blue eyes. They’re too bright to be Irish, I decide. “Do you mind if I get myself another cup?” I ask and he shakes his head. So I apologize for a moment and go into the kitchen, using the time to collect myself. 

 

I’m not sure I’m ready to face my son’s former … friend … in my home. Will I ever be? It’s been almost five years that he told me about his chosen … lifestyle and I’m still not comfortable with it. He told me in his letter that he understood that I could never love him, and that hurt like nothing else. Not even like sitting at a table with my husband, hearing him tell me that the life growing inside of me, the life we created together, is unwanted. I made the decision to have the baby, and to have that child think I never loved him … 

 

I press a hand over my lips, and feel them quivering. Longingly my eyes fall on the bottle of Scotch in the corner, but I quickly turn away. I can’t fall apart right now, I have a visitor in my living room, and so I steady my hands, something I learned a long time ago, pour myself the cup of coffee, and walk back to Justin. “I never quite got your last name,” I tell him and sit down in my favorite chair, placing the cup on the little side table on the left. 

 

“Taylor,” he replies with a slight smile. “Justin Taylor. You have a very nice home,” he compliments, and I feel pleased. Having a spotless house has always been important to me. There wasn’t a lot I could be proud of, but my home was special. 

 

“Thank you,” I say, and this time my smile is genuine. I sip from my coffee, barely tasting it, and swallow. “You said you needed to talk to me.” 

 

“Yes,” he nods, and straightens in his chair. “I know Brian told you about his son,” he starts, and I give him a slight nod. “But I’m not sure if he told you that his second child was due?” 

 

“No.” The word is out before I can stop it. Brian was expecting another child? He never told me. What does that say of me as a mother? I’ve asked myself the question the whole week, and I still don’t have an answer. At least none I can live with. “No,” I say more softly, “He never…” 

 

Justin doesn’t comment, instead he simply continues his story. “The baby was born last night.” Now I understand the circles underneath his eyes. He was there to give support. The baby’s grandmother wasn’t. Because she didn’t know, I try to tell myself, but know it’s a lie. Would I have gone if I had known? I wish I knew the answer. “But the mother,” Justin goes on, then hesitates. “There were complications,” he tells me finally, “and the mother is in a coma. We need to find Brian.” 

 

To find Brian? “I don’t know where he is,” I say honestly, and it hurts to know that I’m probably the last person Brian would confide in. Oddly enough, it never bothered me before. But ever since I read his letter, things have changed, whether for the better is still up for judgment. 

 

“Yes, I know,” he says and the stab in heart intensifies. His friends don’t even expect me to know my own son. “But I thought …,” he shrugs a little helplessly. “Maybe you remember something. A special place. Somewhere he always wanted to go to.” 

 

“No.” My voice sounds tight, and it makes me angry. Who is this boy that he makes me feel guilty? He has no knowledge of what my life was. How I tried to stay above water, and not let my husband pull me under. How I had to suffer through his drunken rages, through his neglect, through his loveless touch. The way he made me feel responsible for the life he hated, the fact that I never got as much as a friendly smile from him in all the years we were together. 

 

Justin Taylor will never understand that. How could he, with his white, upper class upbringing? How could this boy understand what a struggle it was not to just turn my back on all this and run? 

 

“I don’t know where Brian went, and I suppose you already know that I’m the last person to know. So why did you even come here?” 

 

His eyes show surprise for a moment before he turns his gaze away. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just need to find Brian.” 

 

“I haven’t part of Brian’s life for a long time,” I snap, not caring that Justin hasn’t earned this treatment. He has nothing to do with my problems, or the problems between Brian and me. But he’s the first person I can talk to about my son, and I can’t stop myself. When I tried to tell Claire, she simply rolled her eyes and left. She doesn’t want to know about her brother, likes to pretend he doesn’t exist at all. I wonder, is this my fault, too? What did I do wrong that my children hate each other? 

 

“And who’s fault is that?” he suddenly asks, hotly. 

 

I’m taken aback. Somehow I never expected him to attack, but I’ve obviously underestimated him. Underneath all the blond and blue-eyed innocence is a core of steel. “Don’t try to lay the blame on me,” I defend myself, getting angry because I feel the need to. “I tried to reach out to him, but he pushed me away.” 

 

“Because you never accepted him in the first place,” he argues, his eyes blazing now. “You are his mother, but you could never accept the way he was. So he’s gay. So what? He’s still Brian. Who he fucks doesn’t change who he is.” 

 

I flinch at the rudeness I never expected from Justin’s mouth, and compress my lips for a moment before I reply, “I’m not going to discuss my son with you, Mr. Taylor.” 

 

He laughs, “No, of course not. I should’ve known that all the concern you showed last week was nothing but a temporary lapse.” He stands without warning and walks over the table in the corner, looking at the display of family portraits. “You have pictures of your children, but pictures aren’t alive, they’re dead. Because you’re too afraid to face reality, you have to be satisfied with pictures, instead of your real children. Instead of talking to Brian, you prefer to look at a picture of him when he was still a boy. But he isn’t that boy anymore. He is a man. A wonderful, vulnerable person who is hurting-“ 

 

His voice breaks on the last word, and I can see that he is trying to pull himself together. Maybe I should feel compelled to walk over, to wrap an arm around his shoulders. But I can’t. Don’t even want to. I was never good at touching people. 

 

Taking a shuddering breath, he keeps his back to me as he continues, “So instead of facing your son, you keep surrounding yourself with pictures, and religious items that mean shit.” 

 

I gasp, “Religion is very important. It gives me peace.” 

 

“Peace you wouldn’t need if you could accept your son,” he counters, turning back to me. His eyes are very hard, very cold, and I know he feels no compassion for me. His loyalty is with another, with my son. I know I should feel glad. Glad that Brian’s found someone who would slay dragons for him, but somehow I feel hurt. There was never someone like that in my life. Never a person who thought I’d hung the moon, never someone who loved me enough. 

 

“I think this is enough,” I say tightly. “Maybe you should leave now.” I just want him out of my house. I can’t face this anymore, can’t think about it. Don’t want to. I look at the liquor cabinet. 

 

He looks at me for a long moment, before he nods. “Yeah. I probably should. It was a mistake to think you might be able to help me. But let me tell you one last thing. You carry religion like a protective shield,” he points at the wall, “you hang crosses, pictures of Jesus. Is it really more important than being loved by your own child? Are you so hung up on appearances that they’re more important than being a mother?” 

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, young man,” I tell him angrily. “You didn’t have to live with my husband.” 

 

“And you didn’t either,” he says quietly. “As far as I know, divorce has been established for a while now. But you chose to stay with your husband. Brian didn’t. He didn’t have that choice. He was a kid. was your duty to protect him, but instead you simply looked away. I wonder how you can live with that.” 

 

Without another glance he’s out of the door, closing it firmly behind him. 

 

I stand there, in the middle of my perfect living room, feeling as if the bottom just dropped out of it. Then I turn to the right and walk to the only escape I know. I pour myself a full glass of Scotch and empty it in one gulp. Then I fill it again. 

 

*** 

 

As soon as I feel the door clicking behind me, I want to kick myself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the hell did I do that? Why did I lose my temper and tear into her like that? I don’t even really know the woman. Only saw her twice before today. So why did I lose my calm? Because I was tired? I hadn’t slept more than two hours. No. It had nothing to do with sleep deprivation, and everything to do with feeling I had to. Seeing her sitting there in her perfect house, sipping from her perfect cup, I just couldn’t keep it together. 

 

And then she looks at me as if asking for her son’s whereabouts was a mortal sin. So I lost it. I really lost it. If Brian ever finds out, he’s so going to kill me. He always tried to keep his mother out of everything, protecting her in his own twisted way. She couldn’t deal with his homosexuality, so he didn’t confront her, kept it away from her as well as he could. Damn selfless bastard. I wish he were a little more selfish sometimes. I know people accuse him of being exactly that, but he isn’t. Not where it counts. 

 

In fact, he’s one of the most selfless people I know. He let me go because he thought it was for the best. Granted, his reasoning is often twisted, but that doesn’t make him less good. He’s just confused, and often conflicted, most of all about himself. 

 

I still feel sick to my stomach to think that Brian had to grow up in there. With a father who didn’t give a shit, with a mother who was too weak, too afraid, or whatever, to help her own child. The living room looks like a fucking shrine. I’ve never seen so many crosses in one house. If I didn’t know they were a legend I would think she was afraid of vampires. 

 

I wonder how Brian managed to stay sane. I can’t believe Michael didn’t see it, too. He’s been Brian’s friend forever. Was he blind back then, or did he just prefer to take the easy way out, like Joan Kinney, and close his eyes, pretending everything was fine? 

 

But then I remember Michael’s comments at the diner. No, Michael knows. Yet, he never acted on it. Or did he? What do I know anyway? I wasn’t even there. Still, I can’t quite shake off the resentment I suddenly feel towards Brian’s so-called best friend, the feeling that Michael is somehow responsible for this whole mess, too. 

 

I take a deep breath. Then another. And another. But I don’t feel calmer. My heart still drums against my ribs, my gut’s still in twists. A part of me wants to go back and apologize, while the other wants to continue accusing her. 

 

Confused, I start to walk. No. I can’t just let anger control me. I need to focus. This isn’t about me, or what I feel. This is about Brian. Finding Brian. Talking to Brian. Hoping he might change his mind in the end and come back to me. 

 

God, I miss him. 

 

I suppress a sob, and continue walking. I miss him so much it hurts. Each time I turn over in my bed, I want to reach out and touch him, only to realize that he isn’t there. Then I want to cry and just give in to despair. But I can’t. Because he wouldn’t want me to, and because it would be wrong in the first place. Brian chose to leave because he thought it was for the best, and even though I miss him like crazy, I would let him. 

 

But I can’t, and not just because of Lindsay. Also because I feel that what we have is too important to just give it up, and because I’m certain that there’s so much love in this man that is just waiting to come out, if he’d just let it happen. I can’t just let him go and throw it all away. I’m not made that way. Even when I was a child I didn’t give up, and I’m not going to start now. Wherever Brian is, he isn’t happy. Running away never makes you feel that way. 

 

I want him to give me the chance to show him that we have something together, something worth fighting for. And yes, there will be pain and he’ll have to face his fears, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it. I’m not going to just let him go, let him hide. 

 

And I can only hope he’ll forgive me for it. 

 

*** 

 

The moment I see him standing in the doorway, I know who he is, even though we’ve never met in person before. I did, however, see pictures, and even some articles where he was mentioned, traveling Europe with his boyfriend who was a successful musician. I also knew, of course, that he was Brian’s ex. I wouldn’t be a very good secretary if that’d slipped my attention. 

 

So when I see him, I smile, “Justin, right?” 

 

He looks surprised, then returns the smile. He has a very bright, open smile and I have no problem seeing Brian falling for him head over heels, well, as much as Brian can fall, that is. “Yeah. And you’re Cynthia. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He walks over and holds out his hand, which I take. 

 

Now a little surprised myself – I never imagined Brian talking about me when he is fucking some guy – I raise a brow, “He talked about me?” 

 

“Sure,” Justin replies, taking the offered seat. “I feel as if I know you already.” 

 

“The same here,” I tell him honestly. “Sorry to hear about your partner,” I add. Not that I knew the fiddling wonder, as Brian liked to call the guy, but it’s the appropriate thing to say. 

 

To my surprise Justin grimaces. “Yeah, thanks.” I get the feeling that something isn’t quite right. Not that I didn’t suspect it before. I mean, the guy was dead for what, four weeks? And then Justin returns to the Pitts and he and Brian see each other regularly. Oh please, I’m not stupid, and I didn’t believe for a second when Brian told me he and Justin were just friends. 

 

To say I was shocked when he called me and told me he was leaving for locations unknown – and not just for a week or so – is putting it mildly. I almost dropped the phone, and I must have looked like a fish out of water, my mouth was standing open so wide. Brian has changed a lot over the past two years. I’m not sure what happened, but when I heard about Justin being back in town – and single – I would’ve bet a year’s salary that they’d eventually get back together. And then – out of the blue – Brian decides to leave. I was dumbstruck. 

 

“So,” I lean back, “what can I do for you? I suppose it’s about Brian?” 

 

His face turns serious, the eyes are suddenly troubled, and he releases a long breath. “Yeah. I … I need to find him. It’s urgent.” Before I can protest, he goes on, “I know he doesn’t want to be found. He wrote me a letter, but … yesterday his daughter was born.” 

 

“Oh,” I have to grin at the idea of a little Brian-girl. “That’s great.” 

 

“It is,” he agrees, “but there were … complications. Lindsay, the mother, had a placenta abruption. She’s in a coma.” 

 

Shocked, I clasp a hand over my lips. “Oh, no,” I mumble. “That’s awful.” I don’t know Lindsay very well. She was around a few times, but we never really got along. I’m not sure why, but if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain Brian was gay, and she was a lesbian, I would’ve said she was jealous. Of course it’s nonsense, but the thought kept coming back to my mind whenever I saw her. 

 

“So you see, I need to find him,” Justin continues, pulling me from my musings. “He’s the baby’s remaining parent. And he’s needed here.” 

 

I nod, understanding him perfectly. However, there’s a little problem. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. He didn’t tell me where he went. He just said he was leaving the Pitts for a while. It’s not as if he were telling me his secrets, as it was.” 

 

He chuckles slightly at that and I do the same. “No I suppose he doesn’t.” 

 

“What about Michael?” I think of Brian’s best friend. There were times when the guy used to call every five minutes. If one person should know where Brian went. 

 

Again Justin grimaces, “Michael is a bit … miffed,” he admits, then rolls his eyes in a way that makes me laugh. He’s adorable with all the blond hair, and the blue eyes. I could fall for him myself. But it seems to be my fate that all the good looking guys around me turn out to be gay. 

 

“How so?” I ask, intrigued. I don’t know Michael very well either, but I had him on the phone … oh, about a thousand times. He can be nice and friendly, but there were times when he was really pissed off, and obviously being pissed off at Brian also included Brian’s secretary. He always apologized afterwards, but the memory remains. 

 

“Brian left a letter. For me. And not for Michael,” he tells me simply, as if that says it all. And it does, I suppose. I wince and he laughs, “Yeah. Well, Brian wrote that he also left a letter for Michael with his attorney. Only, Michael doesn’t know about it yet. Or rather, I told him, and that pissed him off even more.” Again he rolls his eyes. “Sometimes you’d think he’s twelve instead of thirty-five.” He takes a deep breath, “So he’s miffed and not really open where I’m concerned. Not that any of it is my fault, but I think we started out on the wrong foot.” 

 

He doesn’t elaborate, but I understand anyway. It doesn’t need a genius to understand that Michael was completely in love with Brian, and although he loved his friend dearly, being in love with him was the farthest thing from Brian’s mind. Then along comes this kid and achieves what Michael never could. No wonder they started out wrong. 

 

Giving Justin a knowing look, I smile. “Michael doesn’t hold grudges. He’ll get over it.” 

 

“Maybe where Brian is concerned. I’m not sure it includes me,” he replies doubtfully. “I’m the guy who snagged the man he wanted, then cheated on him and left him. I thought Michael was over it, too. But it seems resentment can hold for a long time.” He sighs, “Anyway. I did ask Michael, and after giving me one of those looks, you know, ‘I-wish-you-would-just-drop-and-die’, he told me he didn’t have a clue.” 

 

“Well, that was helpful,” I comment dryly, and he laughs. “I wish I could help, but I have no idea where he went.” 

 

“But what about the firm?” Justin asks. “I mean, what if you need to reach him?” 

 

And I want to slap myself on the forehead for not thinking of it earlier. Grinning at him, I cock my head to the side, “I would try to call him on his cell.” 

 

Justin stares at me dumbly for a moment, then he starts to laugh. “Christ, I’m such an idiot. I never even thought about it. But … I’m not sure he’d take the call.” 

 

“I could do it,” I offer, seeing his problem. 

 

“You would?” For the first time something like hope enters his eyes. “That’d be great.” 

 

“Sure,” I smile at him, and reach for the phone. “You’ll see, we’ll have him here in no time.” But I instantly wonder if I should’ve said that. I have the bad feeling nothing can be that simple.


	3. Bygones

So you, or rather Brian’s secretary, called his cell-phone and some stranger answered?” I know I have to look like an idiot, asking the question. But I can’t help feeling a little dumbstruck. We’re sitting in my office, and I’m munching on a tasteless cookie, having sacrificed my coffee break because Justin called and sounded so subdued on the phone, I just knew I had to make time for him. 

 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking as subdued as he sounded on the phone before. “When Cynthia mentioned his cell, I thought, that’s it. I mean, sure, maybe he wasn’t going to talk to me, but I could at least leave a message, telling him about Linds and the emergency.” 

 

“And instead, a stranger answered?” He must think I’m a bit slow, but this isn’t normal Brian behavior, so I want to have all the facts correctly. 

 

Justin nods, “Called himself Jimmy or Jim or something like that. Said a guy gave him the phone two days ago. When I asked him who, he described Brian in detail.” He rakes his fingers through his short blond hair, “Fuck. Two days ago. If I had thought of this two days earlier, he would’ve gotten my message.” 

 

“There was no reason to call him prior to last night,” I remind him gently, hating to see him all worked up with guilt. I wonder where his so-called friends are. You would think after what happened last night they’d all be out searching for Brian. But obviously they left the task to Justin. It’s unfuckingbelievable, to use one of Brian’s favorite words. As if hasn’t got enough to deal with already. In all fairness I have to admit that none of them knows about the extent of Ethan’s abuse, and I don’t expect Melanie Marcus to leave the bedside of her partner, but they’re still Brian’s friends. Or so they say. After what I witnessed at the Novotny house after Brian took off, I’m not quite sure what to call them. 

 

“Yes, there was,” Justin replies, casting his eyes to his lap. “I should’ve tried to call him the moment I saw he was gone. I shouldn’t have let him get away; I should’ve ignored his letter. He’s in no condition to decide rationally. He needs help. And he needs me.” His head comes up at that, his blue eyes bright and clear. “It was stupid not to see that right away.” 

 

“You think so?” I ask, surprised by the insight he shows. 

 

“Sure. I mean, what else was his letter than a cry for help? Brian’s been crying for fucking help all these years, but nobody ever listened.” He gets up, and walks over to the window, keeping his back to me. “I never listened.” 

 

“You were very young, Justin. Only seventeen,” I remind him, smiling slightly. 

 

“Nineteen,” he corrects. “I was nineteen when I left him. Hardly a kid anymore. And I should’ve seen it.” He turns back to me, “I miss him, Peter. Each time I wake up, I reach out for him and there’s nothing. Only this terrible emptiness. In the bed.” He pauses, then puts his right palm over his heart. “And here,” he adds softly. “I love him, Peter. I love him more than anything. And I don’t want him to hurt.” 

 

“And you think he is?” I’m not doubting him, in fact I think he couldn’t be more right. But I need him to be sure of what he’s about to do. I wonder if he knows what he’s in for. Bringing Brian back is one thing, but helping him … I tried for over two years, and we all saw how well that worked out. 

 

“He’s hurting badly,” he replies, looking me straight in the eye. “Running away won’t change that. On the contrary. It’ll never go away that way. You can’t run from the truth. You showed me that. And Brian.” He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny? The man who made me see that what I was doing was wrong, is now using the same tactics.” 

 

“I think you’re right,” I say finally and smile when surprise flashes through his eyes. “I just want you to be certain. Dealing with Brian won’t be a ride in the sun.” 

 

He snorts,” Hardly. You forget that I know him. I’ve known him for quite some time now. And it’s never been easy. Brian’s one of the most contradictory people I’ve met. He says one thing and means the complete opposite. He can tell you to fuck off, when he really means for you to stay. But I suppose it’s nothing new to you?” 

 

We share a smile, and then I ask, “You saw his mom?” 

 

Justin rolls his eyes and sighs, “Yeah. I saw her. Wish I hadn’t though. I suppose when she came to the diner because of the letter Brian had left for her, it must have been an outbreak of temporary insanity. This morning she was the same bitch I remembered. Christ, how did Brian manage not to kill her?” Then on an afterthought, he adds, “Or himself?” 

 

I grimace, “That bad, huh?” 

 

“Worse,” he says. “You should see her living room. There are more pictures of Jesus than in a church. And crosses. And there’s a row of photographs. Brian as a baby, Brian as a boy, Brian playing soccer and holding some trophy. It made me so sick, and,” he gives me a glance from the side, half guilt, half amusement, “I lost it.” 

 

Quirking a brow, I look up, “You – lost it? Lost it, how?” 

 

For a moment he chews his lower lip, then he clears his throat. “I tore into her. She was sitting there on her sofa, sipping from her fucking coffee, and telling me that she tried to reach out to him. What a fucking joke. I saw her reaching out to him alright. She told him he was going to Hell because he was fucking men. Stupid bitch.” His eyes blaze hotly, and I’m reminded once again why Brian fell for him head over heels. Hell, I could fall for him, even though I’m usually not into young, blond, cute … I take a deep breath. 

 

“What did you say to her?” I ask, and try not to notice how his trousers hug his perfect backside. Yes, there’s certainly more than one reason why Brian wanted him on sight. Sometimes it’s really hard to stay objective. I sigh inwardly. 

 

“I told her she never accepted him, which is only the truth, now that I think about it. And I told her she didn’t have a clue about how to be a mother.” He grimaces, “Brian’s going to kill me for it.” 

 

“If he ever finds out,” I remind him and know I’ve made a big mistake when he’s subdued again in an instant. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, walking back to his chair and sitting down. “If ever.” 

 

“Justin,” I lean forward, my eyes falling on the clock standing to the left. “I have a session in five minutes. But I want to tell you one thing. I think you’re right to search for Brian. He needs to confront his demons. As you said, running away won’t solve anything. He might feel better for a while, but it’s going to get worse than it was, because he can’t just shed his memories, even if he wants to.” 

 

“I know that, I just …,” he lifts his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I have no fucking idea where to start looking for him. Nobody seems to know a damn thing. It’s as if he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.” 

 

A knock at the door reminds me of my next appointment. “In a minute,” I shout, knowing that Myrtle will find a way to distract the next patient for a moment. 

 

Justin gets up, “Can I … can I call you? I mean if things are getting tough?” 

 

I stand as well and walk over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Of course.” I smile at him, “One more thing, Justin. Deep down, in the part he tries to hide, Brian wants to be found. And that means that he’s going to leave traces, albeit unconsciously.” 

 

He smiles back, “Isn’t that against your ethics? Giving me insight into Brian, I mean.” 

 

I grin, “It’s a borderline case.” 

 

“Ah,” he laughs a little, then turns to the door. In the process of opening it, he stops, “Peter?” 

 

“Hmmm?” I’m already back at the desk, trying to find the file I need for the next fifty minutes. 

 

“If Brian wasn’t in the picture, I could really fall for you.” 

 

I look up, startled, but he’s gone, the door closed. I’m still smiling when Myrtle announces my next appointment. 

 

*** 

 

After spending another more or less sleepless night in the big lonely bed at the loft, I feel completely worn out when I enter the hospital around noon the next day. I’m not even sure why I came. I tried to call mom earlier, but couldn’t reach her, and when Vic told me Deb had gone to see Linds, I thought it might be a good idea. I left ten more messages on Brian’s cell. I know it’s Jim’s now, but it’s still Brian’s voice on the mail box and it makes me feel marginally better to hear it. And somehow I can’t shake off the feeling that maybe somehow one might get through to the original owner. 

 

I ask the desk nurse about Linds’ room number and she points me to the end of the hallway with an unreadable expression on her face. Deciding to ignore whatever she is thinking, I walk towards the room, and when I’m almost there the door opens and Mel, Deb, and, to my utter surprise, my mother, pile out of it. 

 

“Justin!” Mom is the first to spot me and she rushes over, catching me in a big hug. 

 

“Sunshine,” Deb smiles at me warmly, while Mel looks subdued. No surprise there. 

 

“Hey, Justin,” she says, and a fleeting smile crosses her lips. 

 

“How is she?” 

 

“Nothing’s changed,” Mom replies. Her eyes on Mel, she adds, “But it’s not worse, either. And that’s a good thing.” 

 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to understand why my mother would be coming to see Lindsay. The two women barely know each other as far as I know. 

 

“I was with Deb when she had to go to the hospital, so I decided to join her,” she explains. 

 

“The doctor says it’s important to talk to her,” Deb says. “That it could help her to wake up.” 

 

“Ah,” is all I can manage. Too much information for my sleep deprived mind. I blink, “I tried to call you earlier,” I tell my mother, “but you were gone already.” 

 

“You tried to call me?” 

 

“Yeah,” I nod, knowing already that my next words won’t please her. So I look at Mel, “I’m going to leave town for a while. I’m going to find him.” 

 

I feel Mom stiffen beside me, and do my best to ignore her. I’m twenty-three years old, I don’t need her approval for my decisions. Where Brian is concerned she’s never managed to stay objective, anyway. 

 

Mel looks away, and when she turns her head back to me, I see guilt in her eyes. “Justin,” she reaches out, touching my arm. “It’s not your fault he left. I’m sorry I reacted that way. You’re not responsible for Brian’s actions, and I don’t want you to feel that way because the fucking asshole just takes the easy way out.” 

 

Wrong thing to say. Very wrong thing to say. If I weren’t so tired I might have been able to overlook her words, but right now I’m not going to take shit from anyone. Especially where Brian is concerned. 

 

I feel my blood boil, feel the anger rising, and the pulse in my temple starting to throb. Clenching my hands into tight fists, I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t call him that,” I warn. 

 

“What?” She’s clearly surprised by the tightness in my voice, the anger I don’t even try to hide. 

 

“I don’t want you to call him that. You have no right!” Under normal circumstances I would never tell her that, would feel guilty for tearing into her like this, especially while Linds is in a coma. But these aren’t normal circumstances. And strangely enough, finally saying it makes me feel a whole lot better. 

 

“Now, wait a moment.” Mom! Mom is taking Mel’s side. Against me. Okay, against Brian. Figures. “Brian left without as much as a word, without a trace. Melanie has every right to be angry with him.” Obviously the hope she would finally start to understand Brian was in vain. Well, tough shit! Who needs her to understand him, anyway? 

 

“No, you wait,” I hear the tremble in my voice, but I don’t care. I’m so fucking angry right now. “She has no right to be angry with him. He didn’t know this would happen. He left because he couldn’t fucking take this anymore. You all don’t give a shit about him.” 

 

“Don’t use that language on me, Sunshine,” Deb warns, clearly angry too. 

 

Fine by me. “You all,” I glare at her, “only used him. Mel wanted him to take out life insurance. Then she wanted to force him into giving up his parental rights. You have no idea what it cost him to sign away his kid. But I know.” I feel a sob rising in my throat and my voice cracks a little. I just clear my throat and barge on, “And you,” I look back at Deb, “made him responsible for all the failures in Michael’s life, instead of getting your son to finally take charge. But it was so much easier to blame Brian, right? And he was taking the blame, like he always has. It fucking killed him to push Michael away, but you didn’t care. You only cared that your son was finally free.” 

 

She stares at me, but in her eyes I can see that she knows what I’m talking about. “And you,” I turn to my mother. “First you pull a guilt-trip on him to give me up, and then you force him to take me back, not caring for a moment how he felt about all this. You didn’t see him talking about the bashing, almost falling apart with guilt and grief. It’s even worse because you knew he was at the hospital every night.” I hear Mel and Deb gasp. Good. Let them know how much they misjudged him. “You knew what kind of man he was, knew how much the bashing had affected him, and you didn’t give a damn.” 

 

“I … I tried to protect you,” she says, her voice only a whisper. 

 

“I know,” my own voice softens a little, and I try my best to ignore the pounding that’s started behind my forehead. “I know you did it because you love me. And I’m grateful for your love. But that doesn’t give you the right to lay all the blame on him. He didn’t do anything. He came to my prom because I asked him. I still don’t remember everything, but I remember feeling like the king of the world. It was the best night of my life.” I let my eyes sweep over the three women in front of me, “With the way you treated him, it’s a fucking surprise he didn’t take an overdose long ago.” 

 

Deb pales at that. “Sunshine,” she whispers, pressing a hand over her mouth. 

 

“No. No more Sunshine,” I say firmly. “I’m not that boy anymore. I’m a man. A man who finally sees what’s important. Yes, I will tell Brian about Linds. And I hope to get him to come back. But not because you need him here. I want him to come back because I love him. And because I hope he’ll finally believe that he’s worth being loved. And I really don’t give a damn what you expect or if you approve. It’s none of your business, anyway.” 

 

With a last glance at them, and no smile at all, I turn away, and walk quickly, only pausing at the swinging doors. Not turning around, I say, “I’ll call if I find him.” And then I step into the elevator and take a deep breath as soon as the door closes. My whole body is trembling, and my mind is reeling, but I feel suddenly free. Not that I actually expect them to take my words to their hearts, but I said it anyway, and maybe they will think about. If I can find Brian, and if he agrees to come back with me, they have to stop abusing him that way. There’s no way he can take any more of it. Not in his current state of mind. 

 

I step out of the elevator, and walk towards the exit when my cell phone rings. Frowning, I answer it, almost dropping the damned thing, my mouth suddenly feeling as dry as the desert. My hand tightens around the phone. “B-Brian?” 

 

“Yes, it’s me. Jimmy’s telling me you won’t stop terrorizing him via my cell phone.” 

 

“Brian.” I know I must sound like an idiot, but I never expected him to call. Not in a thousand years. Then I think, Jimmy. He stayed in contact with the guy he gave his phone to. Peter’s right. Maybe he really wants to be found. “I … I need to talk to you. It’s really important.” 

 

Nothing. Then. “Okay.” 

 

Okay? OKAY? “You … you’re going to talk to me?” 

 

“Yes. So, talk.” His voice sounds tight. Strange somehow. 

 

“Not over the phone. I need to see you,” I say quickly, crossing my fingers. 

 

He sighs, and it sounds incredibly weary. “Justin.” 

 

“No, please. It’s really, really important. Please, Brian,” I beg, not caring that I sound like a lovesick fool. 

 

Again silence. I already start thinking he’s gone, when he says, “Okay.” His voice is almost inaudible. So tight, it makes me want to scream. God, Brian, what are you doing to yourself? 

 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you, Brian,” I reply softly. 

 

“You already do,” he says and I feel my eyes water. 

 

I swallow down the sudden rush of guilt. I can’t give into it. It’s not what Brian needs. “Where can we meet? Where are you Brian?” 

 

“Be at Mario’s tomorrow at eight; I’ll be there.” Mario’s the Italian restaurant we used to go to while I was still living with him. 

 

Click. 

 

He’s gone. And even though I feel like crying because his pain was almost palpable through the phone, I also want to dance with joy. He’s agreed to meet me. And obviously he’s still around, hasn’t just gone off, or he wouldn’t have wanted us to meet at Mario’s. 

 

He wants to see me. Okay, so he’s agreed to see me. After heavy pleading from my side. But who cares? He wants to see me. It’s my chance, and I’d better use it. I can only hope Peter’s got nothing to do tonight. I need instructions. And I need them fast.


	4. Bygones

“Do you need the menu, Sir?” 

 

I’m sitting at Mario’s and a glance at the clock on the wall tells me that it’s a quarter past eight already, and I wonder how I’m ever going to manage eating tonight. There’s no way digestion is possible with my gut twisted into one big, painful knot. Where is Brian? Did he bail on me? I rub my temples where my pulse is throbbing. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

Blinking I look up, and find the waiter looking down at me. “Sorry – what?” 

 

“I was wondering if you might need the menu,” he says politely, nothing in his face showing me that he’s probably asked the question before. 

 

“No,” I manage a smile, and shake my head. “I … I’m waiting for someone.” 

 

“Anything else I can do for you?” 

 

I stare at him for a moment and only now realize that he’s quite obviously hitting on me. For one crazy moment I wonder if that’s the guy Brian fucked on his one and only date, then almost laugh at the ridiculous path my thoughts are taking. 

 

Making sure that there’s no misinterpretation possible, my smile is a lot cooler this time. “No, thanks.” 

 

Regret flickers through his eyes, and under different circumstances I might have been interested. He has a nice ass, I notice when he turns away and moves to the next table. He also has a nice smile and kind, blue eyes. His dark hair is short, and he must be around my age. Might even have been fun. But not tonight. Tonight nothing counts but Brian, and that I find a way to convince him to stay. 

 

In movies, the hero always declares his love and the heroine falls in his arms. But what did Brian say so long ago? ‘We’re queers. Don’t think we’re some married couple.’ And I’ve finally understood that there are more important things than declarations of love, or beautiful words. Ethan taught me that. Every time he hit me I learned that beautiful words, presents, and flowers mean shit. They can be as deceiving as an attractive face. 

 

I glance at the clock once again. Almost eight-thirty. My spirit sinks. Maybe he isn’t going to come. But he promised, and Brian has never broken a promise he made to me. So far he hasn’t, I should probably say. Who knows what goes on in Brian’s head these days? 

 

Picking up my glass I take a small sip and almost choke on it when I see Brian enter the restaurant. He’s completely clad in denim and I have to remind myself that he left all his suits at the loft. They’re still in the closet. I would never throw them away. But even knowing that, it’s still strange to see him walk into a restaurant like Mario’s not wearing Armani or Prada or some other designer clothing. 

 

He looks tired; his movements are weary and he seems even thinner than usual, and still he’s the most beautiful man I know. God, he seems so thin! Has he eaten at all since he left, I wonder? As if he had pounds to lose. 

 

He stops in front of the table, his eyes unreadable, and he gives the impression of a horse ready to run. 

 

“Hi, Brian,” I give him a nervous smile, feeling my insides go all aflutter. 

 

“Justin,” he replies after a long moment before he sits down across the table. He’s got at least a two days’ stubble on his face, and there are lines around his mouth that weren’t there before. He looks so tired, I want to reach out and touch him, but know that it would be the wrong thing to do. Peter made that perfectly clear last night. Leave it to him to make the first step, don’t push him, but make it completely clear that you’re not going to give up, that by running away he won’t achieve anything. 

 

The waiter comes and Brian orders a glass of red wine. No whiskey. That has to be a first. But I have a feeling a lot has changed in the past few days. It’s barely more than a week since I found the letter in the loft, and yet it seems as if nothing is the way it was. 

 

He waits until the waiter leaves us again, not even glancing up when the guy gives him a flirtatious smile – seems the guy isn’t that particular about his possible lovers - then sips from his wine, his eyes scrutinizing me over the rim of his glass. Putting it down again, he leans back. “Why did you want to see me?” 

 

“Why did you leave?” 

 

Ask him why he left, Peter had told me, but now that I did, I have a feeling it was the wrong thing to say. And it proves wrong when Brian stiffens and attempts to stand up. 

 

“No!” I reach out, then pull my hand back without touching him, noticing with surprise that my hand isn’t quite steady. “Please, don’t go.” 

 

He looks at me for another long moment, before he nods. “Fine. So talk. You said it was important.” 

 

“Yes,” I confirm, wrapping my trembling hands around my glass. “There was … uh … an emergency. Lindsay had the baby.” 

 

For a moment something close to joy and pride flickers through his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. “Are they … alright?” 

 

“The baby’s fine. But … but Lindsay had a placenta abruption. She lost a lot of blood and she’s in a coma.” The words rush out of my mouth, and I’m glad when I’m done. I hate to give him more grief, hate to deal him another blow. For all her faults, Linds is still one of Brian’s oldest friends, and he loves her dearly. 

 

His hand lying atop the table tightens into a fist, “A … coma?” 

 

“Yes,” I confirm, aching to hold him, to tell him that we will face this together, that he doesn’t have to get through on his own. I know, however, that he wouldn’t accept it. Would probably leave in an instant. So I just tell him, “But … the doctors expect her to come out of it pretty soon.” Actually the doctor said that there was no saying what was going to happen, but I suppose a little lie is allowed. Especially in light of the pain I can now see clearly in his eyes. 

 

He nods, his lips compressed tightly. “And why did you need to see me?” 

 

“Because … Mel isn’t the baby’s official parent. With Linds out of it for the time being …” I trail off, letting him fill the blanks by himself. 

 

“I already signed the parental rights over to Mel,” Brian tells me. 

 

Surprised, and a little shocked, I stare at him, “You did?” Does that mean he’s been planning to leave all along? My mind starts to reel. He must have thought about this quite some time before he decided to do it. I still remember how hard it was for him to give away his parental rights for Gus. Granted, it was after he was born, but I just can’t picture Brian giving away his rights lightly. 

 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Remember the letter for Lindsay I mentioned? The documents are part of it. It was meant to be delivered in two weeks. I’ll call my lawyer and have them brought to Mel. That should do the trick.” 

 

Not sure what to say, I take another sip from my drink, but quickly set the glass down, when he throws a ten dollar bill on the table. “What are you doing?” 

 

“I’m leaving,” he replies, his eyes and voice bare of emotion once again. “What did you think would happen? You delivered your news. We’re done.” 

 

“No,” I cry when he gets up. “Please, Brian, we need to talk.” 

 

He stops, and looks at me, his voice almost bored now, “There’s nothing to say. Why don’t you just go home and read the letter.” 

 

“I did,” I reply and look at him in confusion. “Brian…” 

 

“Justin,” he sighs, his eyes cool, distant, almost like the night when I found him with his next trick at the loft, the night he came after me, barefooted, and told me that it was just a fuck. “Nothing’s changed since I left. I’m not going to come back. If you had any hopes of changing my mind, better give them up this instant. I told you how I feel. And now,” he nods at the waiter, then at the bill on the table, “I’m leaving.” When the waiter nods back, he turns and walks out of the restaurant without a second glance. 

 

For a moment I feel as if I’m frozen on my chair, then I fumble in my pocket for another ten dollars, throw it on top Brian’s and storm after him, grabbing my coat on the way. When I step onto the street, he’s almost around the next corner. I start to run, and when I’m close I call out his name. “Brian!” 

 

He stops and his shoulders stiffen. “Justin. Let it go. Please.” 

 

His voice sounds so tired and desolate, my fist instinct is to give in, but then I think about what Peter told me and instead close the distance between us. “I can’t let you go, I love you.” 

 

“Justin.” 

 

The pain in his voice tears me apart, but I ignore it and simply continue talking. “You said you wanted me to find what I want. Well, newsflash, Brian. *You* are what I want. I was with Ethan for four years, and there wasn’t a day when I didn’t think about you. This – loving you – isn’t going to go away! If you leave me, I’ll never be happy. Not the way *we* could be happy together, if you’d just let it happen.” 

 

Slowly he turns, and this time his eyes aren’t cool and distant anymore. Instead they’re filled with such deep pain that I have to gasp. “I can’t,” he says quietly. “I can’t deal with this, Justin. I told you all I had to say. I,” his eyes dart around wildly, “ … I need to go.” 

 

“You don’t even give us a chance?” I ask him sadly, trying not to look too deeply into those terrible eyes. “Why don’t you let me help you?” 

 

“You’re twenty-three years old, Justin,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m a thirty-five year old emotional wreck. You shouldn’t spend your life dealing with someone as fucked up as I am.” 

 

“Don’t you think it’s up to me to decide that?” I chuckle, but the sound holds no humor. “After what I did yesterday, I think –“ 

 

“What?” he interrupts me. “What did you do?” 

 

Chuckling again, I shake my head. “I tore into Debbie, Mel, and Mom.” Shaking my head again, I add, “Don’t ask. I’ll be lucky if they’re ever going to talk to me again.” Not that I really care. I still think that everything I said was true, and had to be said. But I care for these people, faults and all, and it would hurt if they hated me now. I look back at Brian, “Anyway, what I meant was that I’m old enough to decide what I want. I’m not a kid anymore, Brian.” 

 

A fleeting smile crosses his mouth, “You look so fucking beautiful.” 

 

“Then stay,” I plead. “We … we could go to a room. Somewhere. We don’t need to talk. We can just fuck if you want.” I know I’m grasping at straws here, but who the fuck cares? 

 

“That’s quite an offer,” he says, his eyes dark. At least that hasn’t changed. He still wants me. 

 

“Take it,” I urge, making another step towards him. 

 

“I can’t,” he whispers, and the words sound as if they’re torn from his soul. “I wish I … I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Justin. I wish I could be what you want.” 

 

“You can,” I insist. “Don’t you trust me?” 

 

He laughs at that, harshly, “You’re the only one I trust. Why do you think I left the letter for you? As much as I love Mikey, he can’t see straight where I’m concerned.” 

 

“So you’re just gonna walk away from us?” I ask him, deliberately trying to goad him. 

 

“Stop this,” he demands hoarsely. “Is that why you wanted to meet me? I left you and now you want to make me pay?” 

 

“No,” I reach out for him and feel tears welling up in my eyes when he flinches away. “Brian, please. I never wanted to hurt you. I know I did. I know I hurt you deeply when I left you for Ethan. But that was four years ago. I was young and stupid. I thought that promises, flowers and beautiful words were more important than what you did for me every day.” I don’t care that I’m crying now, that tears are running over my cheeks. “I love you, Brian. I never stopped loving you. And I know you love me. You’re leaving because you love me. Can’t you see that?” 

 

“No!” He shakes his head in denial, and combs his fingers through his hair, his movements jerky. “I can’t listen to this.” He backs away, holding his hands in front of him, as if to hold me off. “Go home, Justin. Forget about me.” 

 

“No,” I shake my head and follow him. “I won’t. If you leave now, you’ll be responsible for making me unhappy.” I know it’s a low blow, but I’m desperate now. Isn’t there a saying that all’s fair in love and war? 

 

“No, no, no,” he repeats the word over and over again, before he turns away and starts to run, at least that’s what it seems to me. In reality, he’s merely walking, slowly, and I’m watching, like slow motion playing before my eyes. For a moment I contemplate following him, but then I simply stand there and watch him disappearing in the night. 

 

*** 

 

It’s long past midnight, when I hear someone pounding at my door. At first I try to ignore it, but then the therapist in me wins, and pulling on my robe I walk down the stairs and towards the door, blinking against the bright light in the hall. 

 

The pounding intensifies, and I shout, “Okay, okay. I’m coming. Don’t tear the house down.” Opening the door, I tumble backwards as a heavy, and distinctly smelling, body stumbles into me. “Ooof, what the hell is going on?” 

 

“Hey, Peter.” Justin smiles at me drunkenly. 

 

Pushing him back slightly, I frown, “Justin? What the hell are you doing here? Did you drive?” 

 

“Yep,” he grins, the keys dangling from his fingers. “It’s no big deal. I learned from the best. Brian’s wasted sometimes and he still drives his car.” 

 

I roll my eyes, “It’s nothing to be proud of, Justin.” Keeping a firm arm around his waist, I pull him towards the kitchen, then push him into a chair when we arrive. “Sit down. I’m going to make you some coffee.” 

 

“Don’t wanna,” he says. “Wanna drink. Don’ you have somethin’ stronger?” 

 

“I’d say you had enough,” I tell him dryly, starting the coffee machine. 

 

“Nope,” he rises his forefinger and waggles it. “There’s no such thing as enough.” He giggles at that. A silly giggle, but there is no happiness in it. “He said that, you know. He said it wasn’t enough. After he popped my cherry, he said that.” 

 

Brian. Of course this is about Brian. I sigh. I’m so tired I forgot they were meeting tonight. “So I guess the meeting didn’t go as planned. Did he come at all?” It wouldn’t surprise if he’d chosen not to come. It would be typical for him in his current state of mind. 

 

“He came,” Justin says, sobering a little, his voice sad. “But he ran away again. I told him I loved him and he ran.” His eyes water, and he sniffs, “He’s such a fucking idiot. And I blew it. I fucking blew the damn thing.” 

 

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “Brian isn’t thinking rationally right now.” 

 

“But it is my fault,” he insists. “I hurt him when I went with Ethan, and now he doesn’t trust me.” 

 

“He trusts you,” I reply. “His problems run a lot deeper. He’s hurting badly, but not because of you. You were just the trigger, but the people who hurt him were his parents, his sister. By not loving him, or not showing him their love, they damaged him. He’ll always carry those scars, but if he’s willing we could at least stop the bleeding wounds he has right now.” 

 

I hear the beep from the coffee machine, and turn away to fill him a mug. “Do you take anything with it?” 

 

“Sugar, thanks,” he replies, and I can’t help smiling that he drinks his coffee the same way as Brian. I’m sure it’s no coincidence. 

 

I hold the cup out to him, and he takes it, our fingers touching in the process. He sips and looks at me, “It’s a pity I couldn’t fall for you. Everything would’ve been so much easier.” 

 

I laugh a little at that, partly because it’s ridiculous to begin with. Justin’s so in love with Brian, to think he could fall for someone else is like waiting for the moon to fall down on the earth. But also because I’m not as unaffected by his words as I want. Taking a deep breath, I pour myself a cup, my fingers not quite steady. “Did you tell him about the baby?” 

 

“Yeah,” he replies. “Turns out that he’s already signed over his parental rights. He left all the documents with his lawyer. They were to be delivered to Lindsay in two weeks. He’s promised to fasten the process.” 

 

“At least that’s taken care of.” I sip from my coffee, the hot brew burning my throat. 

 

“Yeah, great,” he snorts, and sniffs again, then wipes the tears from his cheeks with his free hand. 

 

“Justin,” setting down my own coffee, I walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him. “You did what you could. I’m sure you gave him things to think about. The next step is up to him.” 

 

His teary blue eyes gaze up at me, “What if he decides to stay away? What if he …,” new tears fall, “finds out that he doesn’t love me? That I’m not worth the effort?” 

 

I know it’s the alcohol speaking, and even though I realize how dangerous this could prove to be, I pull him up and in my arms where he starts to sob like a baby. His head drops on my shoulder, and his chest expands against me as he draws a deep breath, and then another, before he takes several harsh breaths and slowly releases them. Then he pulls back. 

 

His eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks tear-streaked, his mouth wet from crying. I know he’s sick with grief and that he longs for the man he loves, but all I can see are those beautiful luscious lips. We stare into each others eyes and then he kisses me, and I do nothing to push him away. Instead I open my own mouth and moan when his tongue slips inside, warm, moist, teasing the mine mercilessly. If he learned kissing from Brian, then Brian has to be a master. I’ve never been kissed like that before. 

 

My head spinning, I pull him against me, and moan again when I feel his erection grinding into my groin. God, this is madness. We shouldn’t do this. It’s wrong, but I can’t find it in me to care. If this is madness, then it’s the sweetest there is. If this is madness, I never want it to stop. 

 

*** 

 

My eyes are closed and I moan when Brian slips his arms around me, pulling me against him. My mind is muddled, but I can still feel his touch, can smell him and my cock is so hard it might explode any moment now. But instead of feeling a hand go to my zipper and close around it, I am pushed away. 

 

“No.” 

 

Keeping my eyes closed, I still feel the tears slip from underneath my lids. “I want you,” I cry, trying to pull him closer. 

 

“No, you don’t,” he replies and I can hear the regret in his voice. It’s sounding a little strange. Not like the voice I remember, but I don’t care. All I care is that I’m finally back in his arms. But he once again pushes me away. “As much as I would like to fuck you – and believe me, I would really, really like to fuck you – it would be wrong. You want Brian. Not me.” 

 

Moaning in protest, I blink – and blink again. “Peter?” I frown, “Wh-what are you doing here?” 

 

His eyes are sad when he sighs, “You thought I was Brian, am I right?” 

 

I blink again, then press thumb and forefinger into the sockets of my eyes, “I … I don’t remember.” I shake my head, “God, I’m sorry.” 

 

One of Peter’s hands tightens on my shoulder, “It’s okay, Justin. I understand. And it’s me who should be sorry, I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.” 

 

I laugh a little, “As if you had a chance. I practically attacked you.” 

 

He laughs, too. “I didn’t mind being attacked. If the attack had been for me. But I have to admit that I feel a stab of resentment at being used as Brian’s replacement.” 

 

He sounds relaxed saying it, but even though my mind is still spinning a little, I can hear the truth in it, and feel ashamed and embarrassed. “Really, I’m sorry.” 

 

“I’m fine, Justin,” he assures me. “But even if you had realized who it was you were kissing, it would’ve been wrong. You wanted Brian.” 

 

“I don’t care,” I shout, suddenly angry, and turn away from him. “Brian doesn’t want me.” 

 

“He does. Justin,” his hand closes around my arm and he turns me around to face him. “Listen to me. Brian loves you. More than anything. I shouldn’t tell you that, but he loves you. He’s just hurting right now. Badly. If we would’ve fucked tonight, you would’ve regretted it in the morning. And I don’t want that.” 

 

“Afraid to lose a client?” I taunt, but hate myself for being so unfair. Peter isn’t like that. “Sorry,” I mumble. “That was uncalled for.” 

 

“Our client-therapist relationship is shot to hell as it is,” he says dryly. “There’s no way I can stay your therapist after what happened tonight. Granted, we didn’t let anything happen, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to fuck your pretty little backside.” 

 

A little startled, I look at him. Peter’s always so controlled, so rational. To hear him talk like this is a surprise, and not an unpleasant one. I have to laugh, “I feel flattered. But you’re right. It would’ve been a mistake. You seem to care for me in a way I couldn’t reciprocate, or am I wrong?” 

 

He winces at my choice of words, but nods, “Yeah. I guess that pretty much sums it up.” He takes a deep breath and reaches for his cup, empties it, and puts it in the sink. “I’m not sure about you, but I need to be at my office at nine. Which means I have another five or six hours sleep that I need badly.” He smiles, “You want the guest room or a taxi?” 

 

I frown, “What’s wrong with my own car?” 

 

He grins, my keys suddenly appearing in his hand, “That I have the keys?” 

 

“Ah,” I reply, feeling a little miffed. I drove before, and I feel a lot more revived after a mug of strong coffee. 

 

“Well, what is it?” 

 

“I take the guest room,” I say finally. “I just hope the sheets are clean.” 

 

He’s laughing the whole way up the stairs.


	5. Bygones

She looks so tiny, so fragile, and yet her chest rises and falls with steady breaths, and her rosebud mouth purses in her sleep, the life in her almost palpable, even through the glass. She looks even smaller than Gus did. I’m not sure if it’s because she is a girl or because she wasn’t quite ready to be born. But its amazing to watch this perfect human being. Nobody asked her if she wanted to be born, and there she is, small and vulnerable, but also ready to face whatever fate will throw her way. Not that I asked her, but she will, because there is no other possibility. You either master your life or it will master you. And she is my daughter, and we Kinneys never were quitters. 

 

I laugh at the sheer absurdity of the thought. After what I just did, I should probably amend that statement. Because I sure as hell quit. Not only a week ago, but today, and maybe, invisibly, a lot earlier. Maybe it started when my father first hit me, or when I found out that he never wanted me to be born, or when I realized that my mother preferred to look away instead of taking my hand. She never came to my room when I hid there, bruised and beaten, never stroked my hair. It made me stronger, harder, and I learned that in the end, the only person I can rely on is myself. 

 

Mikey was the first to show me differently. And Justin. Justin with the bright smile and the blue eyes. Justin with the endless courage, never backing down, always standing straight. Until a homophobic asshole with a baseball bat almost ended it on cold, hard cement. Watching Justin bleed, his life force flowing out of his body and onto the ground, I felt myself dying with him, drop by drop, second by second. Sitting in the hallway of the hospital, the stained scarf in my hand, I was sure nothing would ever be the same. 

 

Justin, the brave, courageous boy, bounced back. I stood there behind the glass window, not unlike today, watching him while he was suffering through nightmares, nightmares I had, too. Nightmares that were following me to work, to Babylon. I drank, and fucked, and tried everything modern pharmacy provides, but I couldn’t get them to go away. Even today I have them. Not as often, but from time to time I still wake up, bathed in sweat, Justin’s lifeless body in my arms. It’s then when I miss him most, when I want to reach out to touch him, to make sure that he’s alive and well. But he wasn’t there. Wasn’t there, because I had pushed him away, into the arms of another, the arms of Ethan Gold, the romantic one, the one Justin wanted, because he could give him what I could not. 

 

“Did you find her?” 

 

I turn my head and find the night nurse looking at me, a friendly smile on her face. She wasn’t too pleased at first when I showed up at her desk, demanding to see my kid. In fact, she probably thought I was completely insane. But thanks to my charms and the outrageous lie that I’d just returned from Europe, she let me through, even explained the way to the window where I could see the baby. She told me a number, but also said they couldn’t turn on the light because the babies were sleeping. 

 

“Yes,” I nod, and look back at the babies behind the tinted glass window. 

 

“She’s an angel,” Gabrielle, her name tag says, tells me. “We’re so glad you’re finally here.” 

 

For a moment I want to deny it. Want to tell her that I’m not here, that I’m nothing. I already signed away my parental rights, and in the face of law that makes me exactly that, nothing. I’m only the guy who jerked off in a cup to bring her to life. But I’m also the guy who left without a word a week before she was born. 

 

“I … I am too,” I say after a moment, realizing with surprise that I really mean it. I’m glad I’m here. Glad that I can finally see her, even in the dark, and only through the window. She is a part of me, just like Gus. She is my daughter, and I … What? Will care for her? Provide for her? Be there for her? 

 

“You should go and sleep now. You can come back tomorrow. And then you can also see Miss Peterson. She’s not awake yet, but I’m sure she will be.” She smiles at me encouragingly, before she turns and leaves me alone with my thoughts. 

 

She’s probably right. I should go and get some sleep, but I can’t leave. Not yet. It’s as if I need to look at the baby a little longer. I don’t even know why, I just feel that I can’t turn away. Here in the dark, it all seems right and easy. Like the nights I went to see Justin. In the dark I could bear what I couldn’t face in the light of day. 

 

In the dark. Stealthy. Hidden. Like a vampire. Never part of humanity. Sucking the life from others. From Justin. I sucked the life out of him. By not being what he needed me to be. I could see the life slipping away, bit by bit, day by day, and there was nothing I could do. Because I didn’t know what to do. So I pushed him away, let him go with Ethan. To be human. Not to become a vampire like me. 

 

Again a laugh escapes my mouth. Justin would probably roll his eyes at my maudlin thoughts, and accuse me of having watched a re-run of Buffy during a sleepless night. Christ. I miss him. He was gone for four years, but it seems I didn’t miss him then the way I miss him now. Like an addict who was dry, and now after having tasted the drug once again, can’t get enough. Seeing him tonight was like getting my fix. And yet I couldn’t stay, couldn’t do what he wanted me to. 

 

There I stood, looking into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and didn’t have it in me to fulfill his heart’s desire. The mere thought of going with him, of facing my old life again, had my gut twisting in agony. At the same time, my heart and soul were screaming in pain, wanting the complete opposite. 

 

God, what am I going to do? 

 

I feel so torn up inside. So unsure of what’s right and wrong. Is it really wrong to want happiness? Is it wrong to wish for a life with the one person that might be able to give it to me? Even if that could mean that the person gets hurt in the process? Or is it just human? Am I human? 

 

For so long I’ve been the one to take care of others that I’ve forgotten to let others take care of me. I was the invulnerable one, the one who never needed anything, but to whom everyone could come when they had problems. I am their hero, the untouchable Brian Kinney, and a part of me likes the image. But there is this other part, the part that wants to be weak for a change, wants to lean on someone and just let go now and then. And I look into Justin’s eyes and know that he could be that person. He’s been through so much, and is still standing. 

 

But is it right? Can I burden him with my demons, with my fears? Is it fair to let him share my fucked up life? He says it’s his decision, and he is right. He isn’t seventeen anymore. The question is, can he really decide? I know he loves me, and love can cloud a person’s judgment. In the face of this love, he might decide things he will regret later. 

 

That is my greatest fear, that one day he might wake up, look at me, and see what a fool he’s been. That he wasted years of his life on a man who couldn’t be what Justin wanted. 

 

Which brings me to the most important question. Am I able to love? 

 

I look through the window and my eyes rest once again on the tiny little creature who carries fifty percent of me. She is a miracle, I helped to create. I would die for her. But does that mean I love her? Or that I ever can? 

 

*** 

 

“You want another cup?” 

 

I look up and shake my head, then grin when Peter fills his once again. “You’ve been outed,” I tell him. 

 

“Huh?” He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “What?” 

 

“Admit it. You’re a caffeine addict.” 

 

He laughs, “Busted. I need the stuff the whole day. In the morning it wakes me up, at night it makes me sleepy. It’s the perfect drug for me. And completely legal.” 

 

I laugh, too, feeling a lot better after a few hours of sleep, and a cup of Peter’s strong, Italian coffee. I’m a little hung over, but I’ve had worse. “Do you have patients this morning?” I ask. 

 

“Yeah,” he nods, sipping from his hot brew. “Three. The first is a hard case.” He shakes his head, “Sometimes I really love my job. But there are days …,” he trails off, and we share another laugh. He’s really easy to be with, and for a moment I wish I could fall for him. Everything would be a lot easier. But would I really want easier, I wonder? Is love supposed to be easy? 

 

“No, nothing worthy ever comes easy.” 

 

Startled I realize that I’ve asked the question aloud. Peter looks at me compassionately, and I frown. “But does it have to be so fucking hard?” 

 

For a moment he says nothing, and he takes another sip from his coffee, before his eyes take on a far away look. “When I was still young, I used to fuck this guy. His name was Walter. He was older. Forty. I was a little over twenty. I thought he was ancient.” He laughs, but it’s not for me. He’s lost in memories. “He was a counselor in my home town. Nobody knew he was gay. It was one of those little towns where just the rumor of being gay could ruin you. So he kept it hidden.” 

 

He turns to the window, and looks out on the street. “We met when I was home from college. It was always in secret. I learned a lot from him. He was experienced, in more ways than one. He didn’t have a great body, nor was he beautiful or anyething, but he had the most startling eyes. They could bore right into you, and you had the feeling he was looking into your soul. I think it was part of his success. We had a good time, but I was young, too young to appreciate what we had.” 

 

Peter is quiet for a moment, then takes a deep breath and turns back to me, his eyes sad. “One day he was killed. It was afterwards that I realized that I loved him. He wasn’t just a fuck. I loved him.” His eyes meet mine, “You’re lucky, Justin. You figured it out before it was too late. And Brian will, too. He might be damaged and hurt, but he isn’t stupid. He knows what he has in you. You have to believe it. You have to believe in him. If you don’t…” He trails off, and sighs. “He trusts you. He showed it to you already by leaving the letter. And by meeting you last night. You have to use it to your advantage.” 

 

Blinking, I try to shake off the after-shocks of Peter’s story of a lost love, and ask, “How?” 

 

“Work on him. Call his cell phone. It’s obvious that Brian is still in contact with this Jim or Jimmy. If I’m not completely wrong, Brian’s already reconsidering his decision to leave.” 

 

A little surprised I look up at him, “Why are you telling me that? Isn’t that confidential?” 

 

He sips from his cup, then smiles, “We’re not talking about things Brian revealed during our sessions. And it’s pretty obvious that after what happened last night, I can’t be your therapist ever again. But I could …be your friend, if you want?” 

 

“I want,” I reply without hesitation, swallowing the embarrassment I feel at the memory of last night. The idea of having Peter for a friend is far too tempting to resist. He sees things so clearly, always knows what to say. 

 

“Friends then?” He puts down his cup and holds out his hand with a smile. 

 

I take it. “Friends,” I say and return his smile. 

 

He laughs and sighs, “I still want to fuck you.” 

 

I laugh, too. “Never going to happen.” 

 

“I know,” he replies in mock disappointment. “But you have the cutest backside.” 

 

“I know,” I grin. 

 

“And you’re so modest.” 

 

My grin widens. “As Brian would say, ‘modesty’s for those who need it’.” 

 

“I see,” he grins too, before he glances at his watch. “Christ, I need to leave. What about you?” 

 

“I really should work on that painting I started a while ago,” I reply, then grin again. “But I might terrorize a certain cell phone instead.” 

 

“Good boy,” Peter nods approvingly. “You’ll see. It’ll be worth it in the end.” 

 

*** 

 

“Mom, can I have another piece of toast, please?” 

 

“Sure,” I reply, handing him the basket that holds the bread. Michael smiles at me and something inside of me melts, as always, when he does that. It’s a mother-thing I’m sure. It has to be a mother-thing, if a simple smile does that to your insides. I sigh. I love these weekly breakfasts at my house. It started a year ago, Carl had the idea, and since then we meet on Tuesdays. I have the afternoon shift, Carl has his day off, and Michael just opens the store an hour later. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Vic’s serious eyes are resting on me. He’s grown so thin, a mere shadow of his old self. He still hasn’t developed full blown AIDS, thanks to the meds, but you can see him fading away a little more each day. Clearing my throat, I push the thoughts away, not able to deal with them, and force a bright smile on my lips, “Sure. I’m fine. Just thinking.” 

 

“About what?” Michael wants to know through a mouth full of scrambled egg. 

 

“About Justin,” I admit and see my son’s face fall, and his eyes narrow. Wrong subject, I know. But Justin’s been on my mind ever since his little outburst at the hospital. 

 

“Uh-oh,” Carl mumbles, raising the cup to his mouth. 

 

Michael instantly turns on him, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

 

His lover shrugs, and swallows, before he answers, “Nothing. Just …” 

 

“Just?” my son demands. 

 

Carl shrugs again, “Well, you can’t deny that the guy gets your hackles up. Each time you hear his name-“ 

 

“And can you blame me?” Michael puts his fork down, looks around. “Can you?” 

 

Vic only frowns at that, not wanting to get into an argument, but as always I can’t keep my mouth shut. “You didn’t see him at the hospital. You weren’t there when he gave it to us. If there was ever a doubt that he loves Brian, he made it clear when he told us in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t give a shit what we think, and that we’ve been treating Brian badly.” Sipping from my coffee I add, “And he’s not completely wrong.” 

 

“Huh?” Vic looks at me with his brows raises, and I roll my eyes. 

 

“Okay, so he was right. We were treating Brian like shit. But Brian’s an asshole most of the time, so what did he expect?” 

 

“Where were we treating Brian like shit?” Michael looks at me in confusion. “We all love him, we always supported him. Not like certain little blond twinks I know.” 

 

“Christ, Michael, can’t you get over this petty jealousy of yours for once?” I exclaim in sudden annoyance. Here he sits, his loving, adoring, completely perfect partner at his side, and can’t stop swooning over Brian. So okay, he didn’t actually swoon, but we, who all know him, understand nevertheless. 

 

“It has nothing to do with jealousy,” he defends himself instantly, indignation written all over his face. “I’m Brian’s best friend. We’ve been tight since we were fourteen. We shared everything.” 

 

“Still he left a letter for Justin and not for you.” 

 

I can see Michael reel under the blow the words have caused in him. He whirls around and stares at his partner, but Carl looks at him calmly, as if the words never slipped from between his lips. He’s really extraordinary, this young man with his surfer good looks, and I sometimes why he chose Michael. No, don’t get me wrong. I would choose Michael, but I’m his mother, and I’m helplessly biased. But the way Michael sometimes treats Carl, I wonder why the blond still takes it. And then I wonder how long it will last. 

 

None of Michael’s relationships lasted before. David couldn’t take it, he became tired of competing with Brian. Not that Michael ever noticed it, he’s far too oblivious where Brian is concerned. Ben couldn’t take it either. After two years of trying to be a loving partner, he finally decided that what was left of his life was too precious to waste on a guy who couldn’t get over his unrequited love for his best friend. And now there’s Carl. He’s wonderful. He’s perfect. And I don’t want him to leave. But I’m afraid he will, in the end. Nobody can live in another man’s shadow forever. 

 

I used to blame Brian for it. Justin was right on that account. I’m not blind. I saw what Brian was doing, that he couldn’t commit to anyone, but that he liked the adoration Michael gave him. Brian loved to send out little messages, little hints, never obvious, but just enough to keep Michael as a loving admirer. Then he pushed him away, did it because I demanded it from him. And I’m not sorry for it. I’m Michael’s mother, it’s my fucking right to look out for my son. But I also saw what it did to Brian. And I hated myself for it. Yet, not enough to finally accept that my son was too immature to make the decision himself. That it’s Michael’s life and that Michael is the one who has to lead it. 

 

Justin’s words made me see that. He is right. But I’m so used to blaming everything on Brian that I forgot to look for other possibilities. And now, when I look into the face of my son, his eyes wide with shock, betrayal, and pain that his lover could say such a thing, I’m suddenly afraid it’s too late already. That Michael has passed the point where there is a chance to change. 

 

“How … how can you say such a cruel thing?” Michael asks, blinking threatening tears away. 

 

“It’s the truth nevertheless,” Carl replies, and starts to pick up the remaining crumbs of scrambled egg from his plate. He seems calm and unaffected, as if he hasn’t just delivered a painful blow. But then he looks up and I have to keep myself from gasping at the expression in his eyes. I love him like he was my own son, but I know I’m going to lose him. I know that Michael’s behavior since Brian left has finally driven it home to Carl. My son might love his partner, but when it comes to a decision it’ll always be Brian. Brian, who left because he couldn’t give Justin what he wanted. 

 

I close my eyes, the pain behind them suddenly too intense to bear. Brian Kinney fucking loves this little blond twink, as Michael likes to call him, and my son is too blind to see it. Or doesn’t want to. Instead he still clings to a stupid hope, a hope that will never find fulfillment. 

 

“Carl, do you want another cup?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but not quite managing it. Our eyes meet and I know he understands, knows how sorry I am, and he smiles. A smile that pierces right through my heart. It’s so sad and I understand, wanting to shout at Michael, and wanting to hit him, to finally wake up and see what he’s throwing away. 

 

But when I look at my son, I know it would be in vain. He doesn’t lose a thought for the pain of his lover, instead he’s only concerned about himself. And Brian. And Justin. Of course this would mean nothing without Justin. “Brian was confused,” he says, looking first at me, then at Vic, then back at me, ignoring Carl, punishing him that way, as if Carl hasn’t been punished enough already. “He is not thinking clearly. That’s the only explanation possible.” 

 

“Or maybe he just loves Justin,” Vic remarks casually. “Trusts Justin.” 

 

Michael frowns for a moment, then shakes his head, “Brian doesn’t do love. He doesn’t believe in it. He believes in fucking.” 

 

“Oh, for the love of God,” I exclaim, not able to keep it in me any longer. “Maybe he finally grew up.” 

 

“Yeah, unlike other people I know,” Vic murmurs so quietly only I can hear it. My eyes flicker to him and his to me. Concern shows in both pairs. We both love Michael. And we both fear for him. 

 

“What?” Michael demands, giving his uncle a dark look. “What?” 

 

Vic sighs, “Nothing, Michael. So, Brian believes in fucking. He never fucked you. Doesn’t that tell you something?” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean? We’re friends. Brian doesn’t do friends. That should tell you something. He fucked Justin more times I can count. They were never friends.” 

 

“Oh, Michael,” Carl shakes his head and empties his cup, before he gets up. 

 

“What?” his lover demands. “Where are you going?” 

 

“Home,” the blond replies, reaching for his coat. “Deb,” he turns to me. “I’m sorry, but somehow this breakfast did little to help my stomach.” 

 

I get up, too, and walk over to him, hugging him tightly to me. “Yes, I understand,” I tell him, then kiss his cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

 

He looks at me, and after a moment, he nods. “I won’t. Thanks for having me.” 

 

“Always, honey.” I give him another peck on the cheek before I release him, and he turns to the door. 

 

“Bye, Vic,” he says and then he’s gone. 

 

“Bye Carl,” Vic tells the already closed door, and then he turns to his nephew. “You know, Michael, you really are a fool.” 

 

“What?” Michael stares at him in confusion. “Why?” 

 

For a moment I’m tempted to say something, but then I keep from it. “Just finish your breakfast, Michael,” I say, returning to the table. 

 

“No,” he wipes his mouth, then throws the napkin on the table. “I want to know what Uncle Vic meant. Why do you think I’m a fool?” 

 

Vic sighs, “Because you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Carl loves you.” 

 

The confusion in Michael’s eyes intensifies, “Yeah, and? I know he loves me, I love him, too. So?” 

 

“So, you should probably take a look at what you’re doing. Just saying you love a person isn’t enough. You have to act on it.” Vic pinches the bridge of his nose. A headache. He’s been having them more often lately. “If you don’t you will lose the person in the end.” 

 

Michael is stunned, but only for a moment. Then he shakes his head in denial, “Carl and I’ve been together for two years. We’re strong.” 

 

“You said the same of you and Ben. You were together even longer,” I remind him. “In the end he couldn’t take it anymore.” 

 

He rolls his eyes, “Mom, Ben left because he wanted to go to Tibet, because he wanted to see things before it might be too late. You know that.” 

 

“That’s what he said, yeah,” I agree. “But was it the real reason?” 

 

He frowns heavily at that, “What do you mean – the real reason?” 

 

I sigh, and feel suddenly as if I’m hundred years old. “Michael, maybe you should go home. Talk to Carl. Maybe … maybe it’s not too late.” 

 

“Too late?” He brushes his palm over his short hair, “Too late for what?” 

 

“Nothing,” I shake my head, wishing I didn’t love him so much. Maybe if I didn’t, I might be able to say the words he needs. But I could never hurt him that way. Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe I should hurt him, and try to save him from himself. But I can’t. 

 

“Mom,” he stands and walks over to me. “Too late for what?” 

 

And instead of saying it, I simply take him into my arms and hold him. He is my baby, and I love him more than anything. My eyes meet Vic’s over Michael’s shoulder, and I know he understands. I just wish it would make me feel better. But unfortunately it doesn’t. 

 

*** 

 

I wake to the shrill noise of my new cell phone, and bury my head in my pillow. It’s far too early to wake up, especially as there is no work waiting for me. I’m officially on leave at work. It really pays to be a partner. When I announced that I would be away for a while, Gardner merely raised a brow. 

 

Then suddenly something wet licks my ear. 

 

Fuck! 

 

“Go away.” 

 

But the licking continues, and it’s accompanied by little yaps. The phone continues to ring in the background. 

 

“Stop it!” I shout, but my voice is muffled by the pillow. 

 

A moment later something lands on my bed. “Down,” I order, but finally turn around when the licking moves to my nape. “God, you’re a nuisance,” I tell the little fur ball whose dark eyes are staring down at me, his rosy tongue lolling from his mouth, while his tail is wagging excitedly. 

 

The phone has stopped ringing by now. At least one good thing this morning. I frown at my bed companion. “Why didn’t I just leave you in that dumpster?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, instead he plops on his belly and watches me. “I know why,” I go on, yawning and rubbing my eyes, “because I’m an idiot. A dog! What would I want with a dog. You have hair, and you lose it everywhere. I hate hair, and dirt.” I sigh. Of course he doesn’t understand a word of it. “Okay. Lets get up then,” I tell him and he jumps from the bed as soon as I rise. “I suppose you’re hungry. And don’t you need to go out?” 

 

Slipping into my sweatpants I walk into the tiny kitchen and put the contents of a can of dog food on a dish to put it on the ground. He attacks instantly. Yawning again, I attempt to make some coffee for me, when the phone rings again. Groaning, I fish it from underneath my clothes. “Yeah?” 

 

“That you?” 

 

I roll my eyes, “Jimmy, what do you want?” 

 

“That guy, that Justin,” he complains. “He never stops calling.” 

 

Figures. “So?” 

 

“You call him back or I’m gonna throw this thing away.” 

 

Rubbing my eyes, I walk back into the kitchen, “Okay. Do that. I don’t care. But don’t call me again.” Putting down the phone, I look out of the window. Justin. I want to be annoyed, but strangely enough I have to smile. So he doesn’t stop calling, does he? My smile widens. Persistent little twink. He just can’t give up on me. Whatever I throw his way, he keeps bouncing back, keeps coming on to me. And with a sudden startling insight, I realize that I’m happy he does. That I wouldn’t want it any other way.


	6. Bygones

I can hardly believe my eyes when I climb the last stairs to the loft – thanks to an elevator that is out of order most of the time – and come face to face with my mother. 

 

“Justin,” she greets me, obviously not quite sure of her welcome. 

 

Still feeling a little hung over, I need a moment to process the fact that she’s actually here. “Hi, mom,” I reply lamely, giving her a slight wave. “What are you doing here?” 

 

Her eyes flickering to the ground for a moment, I see her breathing deeply before she looks at me again. “Why don’t you invite me in first?” 

 

For a moment I think about Buffy and that you should never invite anyone into your apartment, then have to chuckle over my own train of thought. My mother and a vampire don’t have anything in common. Plus daylight and all. “Sure,” I unlock the door and pull it open, then close it after we both enter. “You want something to drink?” 

 

“A cup of coffee would be nice,” she says while she removes her coat and places it on a chair. “Each time I come here,” she sighs wistfully, “it seems larger than before.” 

 

“That’s because it is. Large, I mean,” I tell her, getting the coffee machine started. Then I turn to face her. “So? Why don’t you tell me why you came?” 

 

“Justin,” she sighs again, her face taking on the usual expression that indicates she doesn’t quite know how to begin. “I … I hate that we had that unnecessary argument at the hospital.” 

 

My anger instantly rises again – how dare she calling the argument unnecessary?!? I narrow my eyes, “It wasn’t unnecessary. Those things needed to be said. You all make Brian the bad person here. And I won’t have it any longer. He’s done nothing.” 

 

“He left you,” she reminds me, “without so much as a warning in advance.” 

 

“Because he felt lost,” I reply, hoping against hope that she’ll understand. “Brian’s a very complicated person. And he has this … deep belief that he can’t love people. That there isn’t enough in him to give other people what they need. And part of the reason is because everyone treats him like shit.” Eyes blazing, I turn back to the coffee machine and pour her a cup. 

 

“I never-“ 

 

“You, just like everyone else,” I interrupt, carrying the coffee over to her. She takes it, and I see her hands aren’t quite steady. Good. I hope it means it’ll get her thinking, and that she isn’t unaffected by all this. “You knew he was at the hospital when I was hurt, you knew he cared, and yet you blamed him and told him to stay away from me. What do you think it did to him? I know, he seems unaffected most of the time, but it must have cut deeply.” 

 

She sips from the coffee, then shakes her head, “I … I did it for your own good.” 

 

“Mom.” Lifting my hands in a helpless gesture, I sigh. “We’ve been through this. I’m not going to repeat myself. It was wrong of you. Period. What really hurts is,” I pause and lock my eyes with hers, “that after what happened at our house you can still think that way. How can you think him staying away is better?” 

 

“I … I just don’t want you hurt. He’s a very complex man. You said it yourself, he has a lot of problems. Are you really sure you’re up to it?” 

 

I can see the concern in her eyes and a part of me is glad. She cares, and I know Brian would give his right arm to see his mother acting like that. But another part of me is annoyed. “I’m twenty-three years old for God’s sake, Mom. I’m not a teenager anymore. Besides, after what I went through with Ethan, I think I can deal with anything.” 

 

She flinches at the mention of Ethan’s name and I know it’s because she feels guilty. Which is nonsense. It wasn’t her fault. It was nobody’s fault. Only Ethan’s. Nobody could have know that he was such a sick bastard. I knew him best, and I never even suspected. 

 

“Mom,” I put a hand on her arm. “I love him. And I’m going to do what I can to get him to come back. I … I met him last night.” 

 

She almost drops her cup. “What? I … I thought he left Pittsburgh.” 

 

“So did I,” I reply with a little smile. “But it seems he couldn’t turn his back on us completely.” 

 

“Where is he staying?” she wants to know. 

 

“I don’t know.” Forestalling her question, I continue, “I called his cell-phone. Cynthia, his secretary, suggested it. And a guy answered. Brian had given him his phone. But it seems this guy, Jimmy, is still in contact with Brian. And so after I drove Jimmy insane with my calls, Brian called me.” I have to grin at that. Persistence always pays, it seems. And I’m nothing if not persistent. 

 

“And you met?” She still stunned by this new development, but also strangely excited. 

 

“Yeah. He was … oh Mom, he’s so lonely and his eyes are so sad.” I have to blink tears away, just thinking about Brian standing there on the street, looking at me, begging me to leave him alone. On a sudden impulse I add, “You mustn’t tell anyone that we met. Brian wouldn’t be able to deal with the others. And I’m not sure if I could.” 

 

“I won’t,” she promises. “So you didn’t actually get anywhere with him?” 

 

“Yes and no. I … We talked. And I know, I can just feel he doesn’t really want to be separated from me, from us. I’m still not sure what really triggered this. Something I said … Probably about going to Ethan because Brian couldn’t love me or something.” I shrug, feeling a little at a loss. “I talked to Peter about it.” And that’s all I’m gonna say on the subject. No way I’m going to tell my mom that I almost fucked my therapist, sorry, former therapist. I can just hear her telling me what a nice, well settled man Peter is. I’ve heard that all before, I don’t need her generous advice again. 

 

I look up when I hear her sigh. She’s looking around the loft, then back at me. “I know you live here now, honey, but … it feels deserted somehow. As if something’s missing.” 

 

“Something is,” I reply, and as we look at each other, I know she understands. Something really is missing, or rather someone. But not for long. If it’s up to me, Brian’ll be back sooner than he thinks. 

 

*** 

 

“Are you Melanie Marcus?” 

 

I look up at a six foot three guy in a formal suit standing in front of our house, the expression on his face thoroughly bored, and frown, “Yes. Why?” 

 

He produces an official looking envelope, carrying the name of a well known law practice in Pittsburgh, and hands it to me. “May I see some form of identification, please?” 

 

Not quite sure what’s going on, I tilt my head, “What’s this all about?” 

 

He sighs, the boredom on his face intensifying, the expression telling me he’s had this discussion before. “Because this is a personal delivery for Miss Marcus. And I mean personal.” 

 

Aha. Not that it helps in clearing things up, but I’m far too curious about what he has in his envelope to let him leave again. “Wait a moment,” I say and turn to my briefcase. Fishing for my driver’s license, I finally find it and hold it under his nose. “Will that do?” 

 

He scrutinizes it for a moment, then nods, “That’s fine. Would you please sign here?” He holds out a form to me and I sign it, then take the envelope from him. 

 

“Is there anything I need to know?” 

 

“No,” he replies. “Everything’s explained. Have a nice day.” He turns without another word, and I have to keep myself from sticking out my tongue at his back, as childish as it might be. 

 

Sighing, I close the door and find Gus standing on the staircase. “Hey, I thought you were going to have a little nap?” I smile at him, but it slips when he continues to watch me with big, sad eyes. Damn. Each time the door bell rang this last week he was at the door, hoping against hope that it would be his dad. And I could kill Brian for doing this to the kid, now that Gus has to deal with his mother’s situation on top of it. He is, of course, too small to understand what’s going on with Lindsay, but after struggling with myself and talking to the Gus’ doctor, I decided to take him to the hospital. There he saw that his mother wasn’t responding to him. He cried the whole afternoon. And now his daddy has deserted him, too. 

 

Taking a deep breath because I know I have to suppress the anger I feel right now, I put the envelope on the small table near by and crouch down in front of my son. “Gus, baby, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t your daddy.” 

 

Tears welling up in eyes that are so much like Brian’s, he sniffs, “Why won’t he come? Does he hate me?” His voice drops to a whisper, “Did I do something wrong?” 

 

“No,” I reach out and envelop him in a hug, his trembling body pressing tightly against me. “No, Gus. You didn’t do anything. Your daddy … He had a problem and he needs to take care of it. He’ll call you as soon as he can.” Blinking against my own tears, I pull back to look at him, “Remember those pictures we looked at a few weeks back, about the desert?” 

 

He nods, and my heart breaks all over again at the hope that flickers through his eyes. “Is Daddy there?” 

 

“Yes,” I lie, “and he can’t call you right now. But he will. I … promise he will.” God, I want to kill Brian Kinney. And I want to curse Lindsay for choosing him as the kid’s father. No, correction, the father of both our children. Fuck! I want to kick the asshole’s backside to hell and back for what he’s done to this little boy, who can’t understand what’s going on. 

 

Fortunately Gus believes my lie, and smiles, “’Cause he loves me.” 

 

“Yes,” I confirm, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I can taste blood. I’m going to pay for these lies, I’m sure, but right now I can’t deal with both a missing father and a comatose mother together. “Gus,” I look at my son. “Why don’t you go back to your room to play a little. I need to go through come papers. You know, work.” 

 

After a moment he nods, grinning at me, his world happy again. “Can I go and play with the computer?” 

 

Under different circumstances I wouldn’t let him, but right now I’m too weary to care. Plus the special kids’ programs Brian installed a few months ago, are actually okay. “Sure. Go ahead,” I reply and with a squeal of delight he is gone. 

 

Taking a deep breath, I rub my forehead, I straighten and hear my joints crack, reminding me of the fact that I’m getting older by the day. Jesus, thirty-five, not really that old, but today I feel like I’m ancient. Remembering the envelope, I pick it up and tear it open, then look at the contents and freeze. 

 

My hand flying to my mouth, I whisper, “Oh my God. Oh my God.” 

 

I can’t believe what I’m reading. It’s from Brian’s attorney, and it’s the necessary paperwork to transfer his parental rights to me. Staring at it for another moment, I then reach for the phone and after only two rings I hear Justin’s voice. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Justin, hey. It’s Mel.” 

 

His voice turning cautious, he says, “Hey, Mel.” 

 

I know we should probably talk about the way we tore into each other at the hospital, but I can’t care right now. “I … I just got a letter from Brian’s attorney. Brian’s had him draw up the necessary documents to transfer his parental rights. I just wanted to tell you, in case you’re still trying to find Brian. It’s not necessary anymore.” When he doesn’t reply, I ask, “Justin?” 

 

“Yes.” Hard. Curt. 

 

“Is something wrong?” I’m sure there is. I can hear it. 

 

“No.” Again there is no warmth in his voice. He doesn’t even sound like Justin. “Nothing’s wrong. You have your papers now. I know that’s all you care about.” 

 

“Justin-“ I try to say, but he cuts me off. 

 

“I’m really tired, Mel. Glad your problem is solved.” 

 

Click. 

 

He’s gone, without saying good-bye. And I have the sudden nagging feeling that I’m the bad guy here. And it’s just so typical. Brian can leave and not care, abandon the mother of his unborn child, abandon his son, but of course in Justin’s eyes he can do no wrong. Not that it surprises me. Justin’s always been like this. Brian is God, so Brian is right. What other people think or feel is not important in comparison. God, I’m so sick of this. Justin doesn’t have to lie to Gus about his father’s whereabouts, does he? Maybe if he were here right now, he’d see things differently. 

 

I frown when the doorbell rings again, and I’m glad when I hear the noises from the computer above. With luck Gus didn’t hear the doorbell this time. I open up, and find Debbie standing there. “Deb,” I exclaim in surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“Can I come in?” she asks. “I need to talk to you.” 

 

“To me?” Curious now, I lead her into the living room, where she takes a seat. “So tell!” 

 

“I’m sorry to bother you with this, especially with Linds-“ 

 

I wave a hand, “It’s okay. I’m going crazy as it is. It’s good not to think of her for a moment.” And it’s true. I welcome everything that can take my mind off my partner for a while. 

 

“Good,” she smiles slightly, but it’s not happy. “Do you know,” she starts, then pauses and starts again. “Has Justin heard from Brian?” 

 

“Brian?” I realize I didn’t even ask when talked earlier. “I … I don’t know. But I got some papers,” I tell her. “Brian’s attorney sent me the necessary documents to transfer his parental rights regarding his daughter.” 

 

Deb’s face brightens, “Oh, that’s great. Does that mean, Brian could still be around?” 

 

Frowning I look at her, “I don’t know. Why?” 

 

“Because Michael and Carl are falling apart.” 

 

I shake my head, “No. No way. They’re so happy. And … Michael is really committed to Carl, and vice versa.” 

 

“So you’d think. But it’s true. Michael …” She pauses, and sighs deeply, “Ever since Brian left, leaving only a letter for Justin, my son’s been acting like a little asshole. It doesn’t need a genius to see that it’s all about jealousy. And Carl’s finally had enough.” She pauses again, then adds, “Not that I could blame him. He’s been like a saint so far.” 

 

Which is nothing but the truth. If I were in Carl’s place I would’ve gone raging mad each time Michael gave Brian those puppy dog looks. Still, I’m not sure where we could help them – or if we even should. And so I tell Debbie. “Deb … not wanting to hurt you, but Michael is thirty-five. Maybe you should let him deal with this on his own.” 

 

For a moment she says nothing, then she shakes her head sadly, “If it were any other guy, I’d agree. But Michael is … different. Maybe it’s my fault for always meddling with his life. But I just feel that he won’t be able to solve this on his own.” 

 

“Okay,” I nod, thinking that she might be right in this special case. But I’m still not sure what I can do. Or if I even want to. With Lindsay and all I feel overwhelmed already. “So, what now?” 

 

“I need to talk to Brian,” she replies. “Because, as much as I hate to say it, he’s probably the only one who can get some sense into my son’s stubborn head.” 

 

*** 

 

Hearing the door open and close, I stop for a moment on the way from the closet to the open suitcase on the bed, then with a sigh walk over and place the two sweaters inside. I knew this was coming, and that there was no way to avoid it. Nor do I really want to avoid it. I’ve tried to ignore the truth long enough, but after the way Michael has been behaving since Brian left Pittsburgh, I’ve finally had enough. 

 

I’m on my way back to the closet, when Michael enters the room, a gentle smile on his face. “Hey. I’m sorry I’m late, but … What the fuck is going on?” 

 

Without turning, I know he’s seen the suitcase, half filled already. “What does it look like?” I ask right back, not bothering to look at him. Instead I go through the contents of the closet we’ve shared for almost two years now. Strange how used you get to share everything, how familiar it looks, his briefs next to mine, his shirts … I stop for a moment, take a deep breath, then continue. 

 

“You’re packing?” His voice rises with the question. “Why? Did something come up? With the job?” 

 

“No,” I reply, finding the shirts I’ve been searching for. I turn away from the closet and walk back to the bed, looking at him for the first time this evening. He really doesn’t look impressive, but I fell for him in a matter of days. At first I wasn’t sure what pulled me to him, but I finally figured that it really didn’t matter. I fell so hard and fast, and wasn’t that more important than hard facts? Plus the sex was great from the very beginning. So who was I to question something that seemed so perfect? It felt right to be with him, felt right moving in with him, felt right to be his partner. I was happy, so what? 

 

“What’s going on?” he asks again, frowning heavily now. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and he leans on the doorframe. 

 

“I’m leaving,” I say curtly. 

 

The frown darkens, “Leaving?” 

 

I sigh. Of course, being Michael, he has to make this more difficult than necessary. Sometimes I wonder if he only plays dumb on purpose or if he’s really that oblivious. “Yes, I’m leaving. As in moving out. I’ll take my clothes today. For the other stuff, I’ll come back later.” I stop, looking at him, “If that’s alright with you?” 

 

“Sure,” he replies, then suddenly gasps, the words only now sinking. “M-moving out? What do you mean, you’re moving out. You … you can’t be moving out.” 

 

I sigh again. Damn. That hurt puppy dog look in his eyes tears me apart. But no. Not anymore. I’m not doing it anymore. “I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise,” I snap, “but it’s been pretty obvious to others that things aren’t going all that great with us.” 

 

The frown returns. “Others? You’ve been talking to others about this?” 

 

“Michael,” I take a deep breath, and stop with three pairs of jeans on my arm to look at him. “Even your mother saw it this morning. Things are … I can’t do this anymore. I love you, but I’m not playing substitute any longer.” 

 

And again the frown darkens. “Substitute? You’re no substitute, Carl. I love you.” 

 

I close my eyes and count to ten, then I open them again. “Yes,” I reply, emphasizing each word to make him see how important this is for me, “I. Am. I’m a substitute for your unfulfilled dreams with Brian. I was able to look away, because as long as he was around he made it perfectly clear that there was no way you and he…” I trail off. “But now … I can’t do it. You’ve been doing nothing but whining that he left Justin a letter and not you, that he gave Justin the loft instead of you. And you can’t stop pointing out how undeserving Justin is of it all. And frankly, Michael, I’ve had it. It’s over. I’m done listening to that kind of bullshit.” 

 

Angrily, I turn away and throw the pants in the suitcase, then return to the closet, glad that I have an excuse not to look at my lover. 

 

Michael is silent for a moment, and when he talks again, his voice sounds tight as if he’s on the verge of tears. “But … I love you. I swear,” he says. 

 

Oddly enough, I believe him. He probably does love me. The problem is, he loves Brian more, or rather the idea of Brian. The idea of the perfect relationship between him and Brian. He’s had this fantasy for so long, I suppose in his head it’s become some kind of twisted reality. “Maybe,” I reply, “and maybe not. The problem is, Michael, I don’t know if I can still believe it.” Which is a lie, but it’s close enough to the truth, and it spares me to have to spell it out for him. He’s old enough to figure it out himself. And if he can’t … well, I suppose that I’ve gotten all the answers I need. 

 

“I … I suppose,” he sniffs, and I steel myself before going back to the bed. There is no way I can avoid looking at him on the way. “I might have acted strangely. But Brian’s my best friend, and instead of trusting me, someone who might have been able to help him, he relies on Justin, a guy who treated him like shit, who cheated on him. Then Justin comes back and suddenly it’s all wonderful again. Excuse me when I go and puke.” 

 

And suddenly it’s not hard to look at him anymore. “You know, Michael. Maybe one day even you’ll manage to grow up. But you want to know another thing? I’m too young and too cute to spend my time with a guy who can’t decide what’s important to him. I’m not even thirty and I was a fool for waiting for you to come around. I even believe that you believe you love me. But unless you can find a way to be honest with yourself, this is no use. And I’ve decided that instead of waiting around, I’m going to enjoy my life for a change.” 

 

His eyes instantly grow big and shiny, and I quickly look away. Damn. I’m a sucker for this, and he probably knows it. “Please,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose another man I love, and I love you, even if you don’t believe it. Please stay.” 

 

“No,” I say firmly, put the last items in the suitcase and close it. Then I grab it with one hand and heave it from the bed. “I’m sorry, Michael. I love you. I really do. And I want to be with you. But not like this.” I shake my head, then lean forward to kiss his cheek but he avoids my lips. Sighing, I look at him. “I’m sorry. But there is no other way. If you find out what you want, call me. You’ve got my number.” Then I walk away and out of the apartment, hoping that I did the right thing for once. 

 

*** 

 

Rubbing away a headache that’s threatening to start behind my forehead, I look up in surprise when there’s a knock at the door. Still weary from my mother’s visit, and not sure if we made any progress at all, I get up, when the knocking repeats. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” I shout, then after shutting down the alarm, I pull the door open, only to have my jaw hit the ground. 

 

“Justin.” 

 

Before I can say anything, something hairy and excited throws itself at me, and I find myself attacked by a wet tongue, accompanied by excessive yapping. “Stop this,” I demand, but the thing doesn’t seem to understand. So I do my best to ignore the dog jumping up and down my leg, and look at the person standing in front of the door instead, as if he’s a hallucination come to life. Not in my wildest dreams did I expect this. Not so quickly after our last meeting that – in my eyes – didn’t go well at all. “B-brian?” 

 

“Ah, see,” he grins crookedly and my heart does a little flip-flop in my chest, before I realize he’s talking to the dog. Brian’s talking to a dog? “This is Justin. And I promise he’s usually more vocal.” 

 

The dog stops his attack on my leg, and looks adoringly at Brian. Nothing new there, I think with an inward chuckle. Seems Brian’s charm even has its effect on four legged men. “Is it a he- or a she-dog?” I ask. 

 

“It’s a dog. The female is called a bitch,” Brian replies, his grin on me now. Again my heart turns in my chest. God, how I love this man. He must have shaved because the stubble is gone from his face, and he looks better rested. 

 

“Figures,” I say, and his grin widens, a sparkle entering his eyes. Suddenly I feel dizzy and grab the doorframe. This exchange is totally unreal. There we’re standing, making jokes, and just yesterday we had one of the most painful conversations of our relationship. Something’s definitely askew. 

 

“Whoa.” His arm slips around my waist almost naturally. “Are you okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” I whisper, inhaling his scent. It’s been a while since we have been this close, and the touch of his arm on me is reason enough to keep me dizzy for a while. “I … just didn’t expect this … you.” 

 

“No kidding,” he jokes, and leads me to the chairs in the living room. I sit down and want to protest when he leaves me there, but he’s back after a few moments, pressing a glass in my hand. “Drink,” he orders, and I do. From the corner of my eye I see the dog plop on its belly. 

 

“Who’s this?” I ask, curious now. It seems the dog has to be Brian’s, but it can’t be. Brian and a dog just doesn’t wash. 

 

“Mick,” he introduces the ball of fur. “He’s not yet grown. And I found him in a dumpster behind the building I’m staying in. He was half starved, and I just couldn’t let him die. Seems he’s adopted me.” 

 

“Are you going to keep him?” The question is suddenly very important. If he can commit do a dog- 

 

He grimaces, “Yeah. Seems that way. Seems he’s decided already.” Suddenly his eyes bore into mine, very serious now, “Like others I know.” 

 

I swallow, hard, and put the glass on the table with hands that are trembling. “Wh-what?” 

 

“Jimmy said you’ve been terrorizing him again,” he remarks casually, sitting down on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “You just can’t give up, can you?” 

 

Feeling as if I’ve suddenly woken up in some kind of wacky dream, all I can do is shake my head, “No. Never.” 

 

He leans forward, his eyes dark, “Why?” 

 

“Because I love you.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t have to. It’s the one thing I know without a doubt. 

 

“Why?” 

 

“Because you’re …,” I pause, then opt for, “Brian.” 

 

He laughs a little at that. “Very helpful.” 

 

Glancing at the dog who is watching us all the time, his gaze darting back between his owner and me, I smile, “You’re infuriating. You’re selfish, and vain, and can be an idiot. But you’re also loyal, and loving, and caring. And you’re the most beautiful man I’ve seen in my life.” 

 

“Not that it’s been all that long,” he retorts with slight sarcasm. 

 

“No, I agree. I’m still young.” My smile never wavers, “But I’ve known you for six years. And I’ve seen a lot of men. None of them ever fascinated me the way you do. It hasn’t changed, and I don’t expect it to.” I spread my arms, “So, there you are. I love you.” 

 

Again he chuckles. Then, suddenly, he’s serious again. “I … I’m sorry for disappearing like that,” he says slowly. “I just … I guess I panicked a little.” 

 

I laugh incredulously. “A little? When your mother showed up at the diner, I thought you were going to kill yourself.” 

 

Ignoring the second part of the remark, he concentrates on the first, “Joanie came to the diner?” Amusement dances in his eyes, amusement that hadn’t been there yesterday, and I wonder what happened. 

 

“Yeah,” I reply. “It was a little awkward.” 

 

The amusement deepens, “I’ll bet. Did she fall to her knees right there or did she go to the church to pray for all the lost souls at Liberty Avenue?” 

 

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, “I was too busy finding out if you were still alive.” No way I’m going to let it go. 

 

And this time, he responds, softly, “I’m sorry. And for dumping all this on you.” He rubs his forehead, “I’m not sure what happened. I suppose I freaked. All I could think, was that Ethan had done this to you and that I’d caused it.” 

 

“That’s nonsense,” I say firmly. “Complete and utter bullshit.” 

 

He laughs at that, but grows serious again, his voice soft and wistful again. “You just can’t give up on me, huh?” 

 

I smile, hoping my love will show in my eyes, “No.” 

 

“I saw my daughter last night,” he tells me and I finally understand a little more – or so I hope. 

 

“Ah.” 

 

“She’s so tiny,” he smiles, too. “And I … I would die for her.” 

 

“I know,” I reply, my voice as soft as his. “Because you love her.” 

 

“Do I? Is that love?” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, “I have no fucking clue what love is, Justin.” 

 

“Love is not letting a dog die, and taking him in instead, despite the fact that you hate dogs and hair and dirt,” I tell him. Why can’t he see it? There is so much love in him. And he has so much to give. And so much to receive. If he’d just let it happen. 

 

He chuckles softly. “You think?” 

 

“Yeah,” I whisper. Finally daring to get close, I get up and close the distance between us, then kneel down between his spread legs, my hands coming to lie on his thighs. “I think you’re a remarkable man.” 

 

His eyes are open, watching me closely. I can see a shudder going through his entire body, and a long breath leaves his lungs, before he reaches out with shaking hands and cups my face. “I’m scared,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m so fucking scared I’ll hurt you again.” 

 

“I know,” I tell him. “But I’m not.” 

 

He closes his eyes and our foreheads touch. “You’re so full of love, Justin. I don’t want to destroy that.” 

 

“You won’t.” 

 

He takes a shuddering breath, his voice cracking with emotion, “Maybe … maybe you could show me … you know … how to do it right?” 

 

The question is so tentative, so halting, I feel my eyes tear up. And I feel so fucking grateful to every God that may exist that Brian came to me. That he trusts me enough with his heart to give us another chance. Or at least I hope that’s what it means. Slipping my arms around his middle, I pull myself close to him. “I will. I promise. We’re going to get it right this time. Trust me.” 

 

He shudders in my arms, but my heart almost bursts with joy when I feel his arms slip around me, too. “I do,” he whispers. “I trust you, Justin. But I’m not sure I can trust myself.” 

 

“Just don’t run away again,” I plead. “I though I was going to go crazy missing you.” 

 

He doesn’t say anything to that, but he tightens his embrace. And that’s enough. After all, I learned the hard way that words don't have to mean anything at all.


	7. Bygones

I wake up to the sensation of warm lips kissing my throat. Holding completely still, barely daring to breathe, I wait to see what Justin will do next. I don’t have to wait long. 

 

Throwing off the duvet, Justin starts at my knees and proceeds up my body, kissing and licking the skin of my inner thighs, but sparing my groin, then going up my stomach and to my right nipple where he pauses before his hot mouth closes around it, making me moan. I hear him chuckle, the soft puffs of breath escaping his mouth tickling the sensitive skin of my chest. After a moment of sucking, he gives his attention the other nipple, biting it gently. My groin reacts in a instant and my cock hardens. 

 

“Justin”, I hiss, looking down at his blond head and into his blue eyes that twinkle at me in silent mischief. “If you’re going to continue this,” I warn, “it won’t last long.” 

 

He lets go of my nipple and grins, “Where is your famous control?” 

 

“Shot to hell,” I reply with a grimace. “I can’t even remember going a whole week without sex before.” 

 

His eyes widen in an almost amusing combination of shock and disbelief. “What?” 

 

I wince, then shoot him a warning look, “If you ever repeat that in front of anybody-“ 

 

“Relax”, he interrupts with another of the blinding grins, I missed so much. “I can keep a secret. Plus, it might be useful to have something to blackmail you with.” 

 

I narrow my eyes, but with a chuckle, he lowers his mouth back to my chest, cutting off any further conversation on the subject. For a moment I wonder when I’m going to pay for letting that little bit slip, but thoughts flee my mind when he suddenly turns me onto my stomach and journeys down my back, his talented tongue tracing my spine, wandering lower and lower. By the time he reaches my ass I’m breathing heavily and moving rhythmically, trying to ease my now painful erection. 

 

Splaying one hand on my the small of my back, Justin stops the movement, easing my thighs apart, and moves to kneel between my spread legs. Placing soft kisses on each ankle, he leans up and nudges my thighs further apart. All my senses are on alert, my stiff cock pressing itself into the mattress, but I don’t care. The sensations washing over me at his touch are so overwhelming, washing away doubts and questions still open between us – at least for the moment. 

 

Licking once again up my legs, Justin lies down fully between my splayed knees, and carefully licks from the base of my sacs backward, the heat of his tongue making me quiver, and I feel my skin drawing up in goosebumps at the light touch. Ignoring my erection for the moment, Justin laves the entire area between my thighs thoroughly, taking his time. Then he licks again, more roughly this time, grazing gently at the sac with his teeth and the tip of his tongue, then nibbling along the perineum until he arrives at the lower curve of my ass. 

 

“Christ,” I hear myself groan and feel Justin’s lips turn upward into a smile. 

 

“Like?” he whispers. 

 

I’m beyond coherent speech by now, and instead of answering his question I let out a prolonged moan that should do the trick. He obviously understands, because I feel him parting my buttocks with gentle hands, easing his tongue up the length of the cleft now exposed. 

 

“Fuck,” I hiss, and he chuckles, the puffs of his breath doubling the sensations. 

 

And then I feel the first rough lick of tongue sweeping over my anus and can’t stop the yelp coming from my mouth, and I burrow my face in the pillow. It suddenly seems like an eternity since someone did this to me, and it is an eternity since I felt Justin this way. I almost forgot how incredible he can be, and that he has the most amazing, and talented, mouth and tongue I’ve ever known. Even when he was barely experienced, he could do things to me that let me fly higher than the most experienced guy giving me a blow job. 

 

Justin continues his delicious torture and coherent thoughts flee my head once again. There is nothing but Justin, all I seem to have room for in what is left of my mind, and wave after wave of wanting are leaving me trembling like an inexperienced schoolboy. Almost at the brink of embarrassment I hear myself pleading, incoherent begging words, asking Justin to ‘stop it, damn it, don’t you dare, please’ … Then the words die off into moans, my tongue no longer able to form the words, when I feel him slide up the length of my back. 

 

“Want me to fuck you?” I hear him whisper in my ear from behind. 

 

A part of me wants him to fuck me, but somehow it doesn’t feel right at the moment, and instead of giving him an answer, I quickly roll around, having him on his back and me on top of him with one fluent movement. 

 

For a moment we stare into each others eyes, his incredibly dark, the pupils dilated to the limit, the heat in them burning into me. “I want to fuck you,” I say finally, feeling his stiff dick nudging my hip. “Do you want me to fuck you?” 

 

Our eyes are still locked, but from the corner I see him lick his lips as a sure sign of anticipation. Not able to resist, I use mine to trace his mouth, then scrape his lips with my teeth ever so lightly. His eyes widen, and when my mouth leaves his, I raise a brow. “Do you?” 

 

“Yes.” It’s nothing more than a hiss, but the passion in his voice is almost my undoing. Cupping his jaw for a moment I let our eyes lock for another second, then break the contact and, mirroring his actions from just before, kiss his throat, then his chest, paying special attention to his nipples, seeing the scars but not flinching this time. I still hate that they’re there, but they’re also proof of Justin’s strength. He survived. Not a lot of people can say that. He moans, and the noises get louder the lower my tongue and teeth wander and when I finally reach my destination, he’s a quivering mass, his fingers opening and closing on the sheets, clutching them almost desperately. 

 

“B-brian,” he stutters my name. “B-brian.” 

 

For a moment I raise my head, my lips just an inch away from the head of his fully aroused cock. “What?” 

 

His eyes are closed, his teeth clenched. “Fuck me!” he hisses, not bothering to raise his head. 

 

For a moment I feel amusement well up inside of me. He might be older now, but he’s still the little wanton he always was, eager to get a fuck, eager to dive head first into passion. But the amusement doesn’t stay, my own needs are too overwhelming, overriding any other emotions I might feel. 

 

Giving Justin’s cock only a quick glance, I swallow it in one. Justin comes up off the bed with a satisfying moan, words spilling out in no understandable order, a mixed plea to ‘stop’ or he would come and ‘oh God, don’t stop’, and I let his voice wash over me like a benediction, carrying us both away to a place of our own making, inviolate to anything destructive or painful. Wrapping my fingers around Justin’s hips, kneading the soft flesh, I settle into a strong suckling rhythm. Justin doesn’t stand a chance, the need and its fulfillment wracking him, tearing him from his moorings, tossing him up in the air and shattering him in my arms, as if the climax was catching him by surprise. And maybe it did, I think with another wave of amusement washing through me. 

 

“Please,” Justin moans. “Brian. I need to … I need you to…” 

 

Not needing another invitation, and painfully aware of my own unfulfilled needs, I lower my body over the smaller body beneath me and kiss him deeply, sharing his taste still lingering on my lips. Retreating again, I raise his legs onto my shoulders and enter him with one swift stroke, the warm silk of his tunnel wrapping itself around my dick, making us both moan at the same time. For a moment I hold still, wishing that this, our union, could remain like this forever, feeling closer to Justin than I ever have before. It’s completely ridiculous. We haven’t really talked, nothing is really resolved, but in a strange way I feel as if right now, right this moment, no words are necessary. 

 

And it seems Justin feels the same as our eyes lock and hold, and understanding passes between us in a way it never did before, the sensations suddenly so strong, I’m afraid for a moment I will choke on them. But the moment passes, as Justin smiles up at me, the expression on his face so tender and loving, I have a hard time suppressing the tears threatening to spill out. I wish I could tell him what this means to me, but know without a doubt that I don’t need to, that he understands, and knows, that I’m safe. 

 

Overwhelmed with emotion I bury my face in his neck, and our hands entwine as the waves of fulfillment wash over us once again. 

 

*** 

 

“Watch out Emmett, there’s Michael.” 

 

I look up from my breakfast and gaze at Ted, whose eyes are on Michael entering the diner right this moment. Not turning my head, I ask, “Does it show?” 

 

“He looks like shit,” Teddy replies, a worried frown creasing his forehead. I sometimes wonder if he’s completely over his old infatuation with Michael or if there’s some residual attraction still left. He’s never talked about them, but I saw those pictures with my own eyes. Michael’s seen them too, but I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it. He probably has his own collection – of Brian. And because I always knew, I wasn’t really surprised to hear that Carl had moved out of their apartment. Not like Teddy, who almost did a double take this morning. 

 

“Hey guys.” Michael’s voice is tinged with just enough pain to let us know how much he suffering, when he slides into the booth beside Ted. Without turning he shouts, “Can I have breakfast, please? I need to be at the shop in half an hour.” 

 

“Seems you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” Ted says tentatively, and I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Sure, Michael is hurting, but please, he caused the whole mess all by his very lonesome. And what about Carl? Sweet, blond, blue-eyed Carl who wanted nothing but love, and then had to deal with a shitload of ancient emotions Michael doesn’t seem to be able to get rid of. 

 

“I didn’t sleep at all,” Michael tells us. Dropping his head, his voice is low when he adds, “Carl walked out on me last night.” 

 

I sigh, “We know.” His head comes up, his eyes panicky and I feel inclined to reach out and pat his hand. “We saw Carl just before, Sweetie.” 

 

“You…,” he trails off and swallows hard. “He … was here?” he then asks, frowning. 

 

“Yes,” Deb answers as she comes to stand beside us. “He came an hour ago with the most gorgeous guy.” 

 

Michael narrows his eyes and glares at her, “Thanks so much, Mom, for twisting the knife in my gut.” 

 

“You’ve earned it,” she replies mercilessly. 

 

“What?” her son cries in outrage. “Why is this all my fault? *He* walked out on me!” 

 

Again I keep myself from rolling my eyes, but barely. Duh, I want to say, but am not sure he would understand it. I sometimes wonder if he’s just too blind to see what’s right in front of his eyes or if he’s oblivious on purpose. The other alternative is that he just doesn’t get it, and even though Michael certainly isn’t the brightest person on this planet, he is far from stupid either. Only where Brian Kinney is concerned, does all his common sense seem to jump right out of the window. 

 

“Because you didn’t hold him back,” Debbie says, her eyes sadly resting on Michael’s crown. 

 

“I tried,” he protests instantly, his mouth turning into a slight pout. “I told him I loved him. But he wouldn’t listen.” His shoulders slump, “What is it that makes all my lovers run away from me?” 

 

Again, duh lies on my tongue, waiting to be spelled out, but I swallow it down. It wouldn’t help anyway. Michael has to figure it out on his own. The problem is, I’m not sure he can. And Debbie knows it, too. 

 

“Hey,” Ted puts a comforting arm around Michael’s shoulder, “I’m sure he’ll come back. He loves you. I’m sure he already regrets ever leaving.” 

 

“Yeah,” Michael scoffs sourly. “That’s why he was walking in here with a,” he looks up at his mom, “most gorgeous guy.” 

 

“And as I said,” she replies without hesitation, “it’s your fault. I can’t believe you’re sitting here, thinking about breakfast instead of trying to get your lover back. He’s the best thing that ever happened to you, Michael. I will never forgive you if lose him for good.” With that she turns, and when Michael shouts after her that he still needs to eat, she simply marches on, tossing over her shoulder that she’s just going to bring him his usual. 

 

Giving Michael a long look, I shake my head, “There goes a disappointed mother.” 

 

His glare is on me in an instant, “Oh, thanks so much, Emmett. I really needed your support this morning.” 

 

“I’m your friend,” I reply easily, “not your fan.” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

 

This time I roll my eyes. Ted can be at least as oblivious as Michael. I turn to my best friend, “It means that friends sometimes have to tell the truth, while fans never will. Being a friend does mean loving someone unconditionally, but it doesn’t mean overlooking someone’s faults and not calling them on those faults if necessary.” 

 

“Well said, honey,” Debbie compliments as she shoves the plate and coffee at her son. I can see she’s discussing with herself whether she should either leave or give Michael another piece of her mind, and, of course, the latter wins. Pushing me over, she slides into the booth beside me and looks at her son. “Carl left because ever since Brian left Pittsburgh, you have done nothing but moan and bitch about Justin. If I were Carl, I would’ve left long ago.” 

 

“Thanks,” Michael replies acidly, his food forgotten. “Thanks for the support, Mom.” 

 

“As Emmett put it so correctly, I’m not a member of your fan club. Sometimes loving someone also means telling those people the truth. Carl left because he realized that whatever he does, Brian will always come first for you.” 

 

“Brian is my best friend-“ 

 

“Christ,” she throws her hands in the air. “It’s like listening to a tape. Yes, Brian is your best friend. But Carl is the man you love, or are supposed to love. But instead of loving him, you run around bitching at Justin because Brian left a fucking letter for him.” 

 

“Justin-“ Michael tries again, but his mother doesn’t give him a chance. 

 

Rising her hand, she points her forefinger at his chest, “Don’t you draw Sunshine into this. He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault that Brian left him a letter. And don’t tell me that Justin doesn’t deserve Brian. That is for Brian to decide, it’s not your problem. He’s your best friend. You love him, and he loves you. As his friend. Why can’t you be happy with that and finally let it go?” Her voice is almost desperate at the end and I put my hand on her shoulder in support. She sniffs a little and smiles at me, thanking me without words. 

 

“Because I just can’t,” Michael almost shouts. “I can’t.” 

 

Debbie closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. Then, very tiredly, she rises from the table, and opens them again. “Then,” she says slowly, “there’s nothing I can do.” 

 

I watch her leave, her steps slow and weary, and find myself glaring at her son. “You’re an idiot,” I hiss at him, not caring that the whole thing isn’t really any of my business. 

 

“Excuse me?” Michael stares at me with big eyes. 

 

“I said-“ 

 

“I heard,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “What is this? I came here to have breakfast with my friends. Instead everyone’s bitching at me.” 

 

“Not everyone,” Teddy says, patting Michael’s shoulder. I want to shout at him, but then he adds, “But your mother and Emmett have a point here.” 

 

“You too now?” 

 

“Michael,” Ted sighs, then frowns. “Ever since Brian left, you … you have behaved as if he left you.” 

 

“He did,” Michael cries. “He left me. He left me without as much as a word. I’m his best friend. Justin … Justin’s the guy who cheated on him, the guy who was with another man for four years, and he gets a letter, and the loft, and everything. I was here, I came back from Portland-“ 

 

“Don’t tell me you came back from Portland because of Brian?” I ask, not trying to hide the anger in my voice. I am angry. Angry, because my friend is throwing away a pretty good life with a gorgeous guy who adores him, just because he’s still hung up on some childhood fantasy. 

 

Michael shifts uncomfortably in his booth. “Not consciously,” he replies finally. “But I was glad to be back. Brian and I go back a long time. We … need each other.” 

 

“And that’s okay,” Teddy says, his hand still touching Michael’s shoulder. “It’s okay to need someone. Brian needs you, too. As his friend. Brian isn’t in love with you, because … well, because he doesn’t do love. You said so yourself. And then … because he would never fuck you. Not in a million years.” 

 

Michael looks first at me, then at Ted, then back at me, and his face is so stricken, I would laugh if this wasn’t so serious. “Teddy’s right,” I tell him softly. “And Justin didn’t just live with Ethan. He went through hell with his so-called boyfriend.” 

 

“He went through the hell he chose on his own,” Michael says stubbornly, and I can suddenly understand why Debbie likes to smack him on the head sometimes. He can be such a twat. 

 

“You know, Teddy,” I say, shoving my plate away, “this suddenly tastes like shit. Or maybe it’s just the company.” I give Michael a quick, deadly glare. “Again, I repeat myself. You’re an idiot. Carl loves you. Grow up, Michael. Or one day you’ll wake up, old and alone, still wondering why your boyfriends always walked out on you.” I throw some bills on the table. “I left the money,” I shout in Deb’s direction, then leave the diner, not able to look at my friend any longer. 

 

Some people simply seem beyond help. 

 

*** 

 

Lying here, our sticky bodies so close, his now soft cock still inside of me, I wonder for a moment if Heaven will be like this. Because I think it has to. What else could Heaven be but this wonderful feeling of belonging, the feeling of holding everything you ever wanted in your arms? There was a time when I thought I found what I needed with Ethan, but I was young, and easily deluded by beautiful words, and the wake up call was brutal. 

 

When Ethan hit me for the first time, and I don’t mean that slap on my cheek, I’m talking about him hitting me until I couldn’t get up again, I grew up in a matter of minutes. Later he apologized profusely, held me in his arms, and made sweet, gentle love to me, and that was when I knew. I just knew that all the beautiful words meant nothing, because if the person who said them to me one moment, was the same person who was hitting me the next, I knew that they were nothing but complete and utter bullshit. 

 

“You know that frowning all the time will give you wrinkles?” 

 

I smile at the words, spoken softly, and turn my head to look at the man in my arms. “Unlike you, I’m not obsessing about my age. I don’t mind having wrinkles here and there.” 

 

His eyes widen in mock horror, “Don’t make jokes about age.” 

 

I laugh and he chuckles, and I can’t remember ever having felt so close to a human being in my life. We haven’t really talked, but it feels so right, I’m tempted to purr like a content kitten. 

 

And talking about kitten … 

 

“Mick!” 

 

Brian blinks at me, then groans, and rubbing his palm over his face, turns his head to find the mutt sitting beside his bed, gazing up at him adoringly. “Christ, he just won’t go away.” 

 

“Nope,” I grin, “and the little accident I had to wipe away this morning also tells me that he isn’t quite house-trained.” 

 

Brian groans again, and glares at the dog. “Bad, bad Mick,” he says. Of course the dog takes it for an invitation, and jumps up, joining us on the bed. “Oh no.” Brian raises his upper body, and tries to shove the dog down. “No way I’m having a dog in my bed.” 

 

“Oh, come on,” I say. “He’s so small. He won’t disturb us.” 

 

“No way,” he shakes his head emphatically. “It’s bad enough I had to keep him in the first place. I’m not having him in my bed. Next time he’s going to demand attention right in the middle…” he trails off and wiggles his eyebrows at me. 

 

O-kay. “Mick. Down,” I order, images of a dog biting my erect cock whirling through my mind. I really think the little thing is adorable, but maybe keeping him out of bed might have its advantages. I give Brian an irritated look. “What sort is he anyway? And why did you call him Mick?” 

 

“I don’t think he’s any kind of sort,” Brian replies on a chuckle, grabbing the dog and putting him on the ground. Mick instantly wants to jump back in, but Brian holds him down and after a moment the animal gives up. “And Mick is … Irish. You know, a Mick.” 

 

“Ah,” I nod, having feared for a moment he’d named the dog after Michael. But he didn’t, and even though it’s immature, I’m kind of glad. It would only feed Michael’s problems. That’s another thing Brian has to know. Damn. I so hate to destroy this playful mood we share right now. Of course we both know it can’t stay that way forever. “Brian,” I put a hand on his arm. 

 

He sighs, “Why do I have the feeling that this can’t be good?” 

 

I shake my head, “It’s not bad. I just … I think we need to talk.” 

 

For a moment he simply looks at me, then he sighs again, and slips from the bed, his whole naked glory in front of my eyes. “I need a shower first.” With that he turns and disappears into the bathroom, leaving me on the bed. Years ago I would’ve been angry, or worse, would’ve pouted, but the grown-up version of me simply takes his retreat as what it is. That he takes a time-out so he can collect himself and face me when he’s up to it. 

 

Of course he was never the kind of guy who talked. A few words here, a brief conversation there – but nothing more. That’s what our life together was. We didn’t talk about our problems. We fucked them out. Or so he thought. Inside of me they festered, and they slowly but surely ate me up. I tried to talk to him time and again, but he steadfastly kept whatever he was feeling deep inside. I don’t have that feeling now. Now I know that he will talk to me – in his time. 

 

I leave the bed, and ignore the sticky feeling for now because I’m sure Brian wouldn’t appreciate company in the shower, pull up my sweats and walk into the kitchen to start the coffee machine when I hear the buzzer. Crossing my fingers that it’s neither Michael nor my mom, because I can’t deal with either of them this morning, I answer it. “Yeah?” 

 

“Justin. It’s me.” 

 

Deb. Shit. Just what we need. Brian and I haven’t even talked and now Deb is going to barge in here. But I can hardly tell her to fuck off. Suppressing a sigh, I press the button. “Come up.” I open the door and walk back, finally starting the coffee machine, adding more coffee. I suppose Deb’ll probably need some too. 

 

The noise at the door has me looking up, and then freezing in shock when it’s not only Deb standing there, but Mel and Gus, too. Just wonderful. Why don’t we try and make Brian’s return as difficult as possible? He’ll be thrilled to see Gus, but I haven’t forgotten Mel’s attitude or the way she said I could stop looking for him because she had her damned documents. 

 

“Hey, Justin,” Mel says a tentatively. “I met Deb on the street and just came up. I hope that’s okay?” 

 

Oh? Don’t tell me she feels a little guilty? Probably she’s just not sure of her welcome here. And rightfully so. “Hey,” I reply, glad that I can still hear the shower in the bathroom. Maybe I can at least prepare them a little. Or him. “Hey, Gus.” I smile at the little boy who is watching me with wide eyes. 

 

“Hey Justin,” he says, grinning. “This is my daddy’s place.” 

 

“Yep,” I agree, grinning back. Then without looking at the women I add, “But your daddy’s in the shower right now. So you’ll have to wait.” 

 

I hear a gasp, and a shocked “what”?, and raise my head. Mel’s and Deb’s eyes are wide, and they’re about to say something, when suddenly a bundle of fur races towards us, starting to jump up on Gus. 

 

“A dog!” he cries excitedly. “Look, Momma, a dog!” 

 

“Yipee,” Mel says dryly and Gus gives her a confused look. She catches herself instantly, realizing that her less than excited response doesn’t sit well with her son. “Nice doggie,” she comments. “Yours?” 

 

She looks at me and I shake my head. Gus is sitting on the ground now petting Mick, and giggling when the dog licks his face. “No, he’s Brian’s.” 

 

“Brian’s?” Debbie looks as if someone just told her that Michael is straight. 

 

“Yes,” I tell her, and tense when I hear the shower stop. “Can you wait here a moment?” I ask them and walk behind the shades and into the bathroom where Brian stands in front of the mirror, frowning at his own image. 

 

“I thought you said frowning gives you wrinkles,” I joke, coming to stand beside him. 

 

He grins, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “I suppose age is going to catch up with me sooner or later.” 

 

“Don’t tell me you’re becoming human after all?” I ask in mock shock. The same moment we hear Gus laughter from the living room and Brian’s eyes lock on mine in the mirror. I nod, “Deb and Mel are here. And Gus.” 

 

For a moment he looks as if he wants to run, then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, “Can you take care of them for a while? I … I need a minute.” 

 

I want nothing more than wrap my arms around him, but I know it would be the worst thing I could do right now. I can’t fight his fights, not if we ever want to have a chance. He has to face his own demons, the way I have to face mine. And I have to let him, the way he let me, even though I didn’t notice all those years ago. 

 

I realize that he’s looking at me again and I smile, “Sure.” Then I turn and am almost out of the bathroom, when his voice stops me. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I’m not going to avoid it. The talk, I mean. I know we have to talk.” He doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes on the mirror. 

 

It feels good to hear the words, feels good to feel he’s finally treating me like a mature adult. And himself in the process. “I know,” I tell him with a smile. 

 

He nods, and again I turn to leave, and once again he speaks. “I tried to tell you, you know.” 

 

I tilt my head, not sure what this is all about. “What?” 

 

“That you matter to me.” He smiles ever so slightly, a little mockingly, but I can see the mocking isn’t for me, it’s for himself. “But … words just never came out quite the way I wanted. So I tried … to show you. I’m sorry it didn’t work.” 

 

I let the words sink in, and suddenly I don’t care anymore that Deb and Mel are waiting out there. Instead I just step back into the bathroom and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him soundly on the lips. “It worked,” I whisper, my mouth only an inch from his. “This time I got the message.” Then I pull back and walk out, feeling a lot better, and sure that whatever comes our way, we can face it.


	8. Bygones

I look at myself in the mirror and try to block out the voices drifting up here from the main area, but can’t quite achieve it. Deb’s voice sounds tired somehow, not like her usual self, and I feel my insides churn, the urge to run and hide almost overwhelming. I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to be their hero, the guy who cleans up their messes. It used to be a part of me, part of the image I was carrying around, but all of a sudden I can’t do it anymore. 

 

Startled I realise my hands are trembling as I reach up trying to push a stubborn hair from my eyes. They look old in a strange, foreign way, and yet they look the same. Is the man in mirror still me? He doesn’t look familiar anymore, even though the eyes are still hazel, the hair is still light brown. There is a new wrinkle near the corner of my left eye. At least I think it’s new, but I can’t be sure. How can I know what’s old and what’s new, when I seem to have difficulties recognizing myself?

 

“Are you coming?”

 

I take a deep breath and turn my head, seeing Justin standing in the doorway again. How long since he left? “I … yeah, I will.”

 

He looks at me, eyes heavy with concern. “I can send them away,” he offers. “You don’t need to do it.”

 

For a moment I’m tempted to let him do just that, but then I shake my head, “No, I’ll be alright.” It’s a lie, but does it matter? I’ve told so many.

 

“Brian,” he steps closer and slowly wraps his arms around my waist. I can smell the scent of his hair, and inhale. He feels so good there, so right, and I want to stay like this and never let him go. “Don’t do this,” Justin says, his voice slightly muffled against my chest, “don’t hide from me. If you’re freaking out, I want to know it.”

 

I have to chuckle at that. “You sure? I can be pretty scary freaking out.”

 

“Yes,” he nods and I feel the smooth skin of his cheek rub up and down my nipple, causing it to harden in an instant. “I know you, Brian. And I still want you.”

 

And that’s the real mystery. He’s seen all my dark secrets, hell, I’ve treated him like shit, and he still comes back, still holds on tight. “I feel like puking my guts out at the thought of facing them,” I admit quietly. “But I’m gonna make it.” 

 

I look down and our eyes meet. He is smiling, “My hero.”

 

I snort, “Far from it.”

 

He shakes his head. “You are a hero,” he insists. “Doing something even though it terrifies you is the bravest thing a person can do. And I love you. So, so very much.”

 

I blink quickly, feeling my eyes moisten. Jesus, this is embarrassing. I kiss him quickly, hoping against hope he hasn’t seen it. “Smart ass,” I tease.

 

“Isn’t that why you love me?”

 

He is grinning now and fuck, I know I’m lost. I never wanted to be out of control like this, but I am. Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel scary at all. “Not for long if you keep this up.”

 

His grin never wavers. “Empty threats,” he says, rising on his toes and pecking my cheek. The kid’s entirely too cocky for my taste, but I wouldn’t change a thing. This boy, no, this man, is my salvation, as much as I tried to deny it. He smiles again, and then he takes my hand and pulls me with him. “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

I feel my heart trembling at the sight of my son, his face awash with joy as he’s playing with the pup. Mick is an enthusiastic participant, licking and yapping, jumping around, his ears flapping. Gus rolls around, giggling while trying to avoid a wet, canine tongue, when he suddenly sees me and his eyes widen. “Dada!” he shouts, before he jumps up and races in my direction. But instead of launching himself into me, the way he usually does, he stops about a foot away, and his nose scrunches up.

 

“Hey, Sonny Boy.” My voice is hoarse, my mouth dry. When I left, I left my son, too. And my daughter. True, they were supposed to be Mel’s and Linds’ but what kind of parent am I? Guilt squeezes my gut, making it churn and twist. 

 

“You left,” my son accuses me and for a moment I have to close my eyes. Not looking at him, I nod. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” I admit, and force myself to look at him. Never, I vowed to myself, never would my son doubt my love. And already, he had to. But then, what do I know about love?

 

Justin seems to sense my distress, because I can feel his hand, warm, assuring, squeezing my arm. 

 

“I … I’m sorry,” I stutter, keeping my eyes on Gus. “I … I love you, Gus.”

 

The words sound strange, coming from my mouth. They feel strange. I said them before, to my son, in my mind, but never aloud. The strangest thing, however, is the discovery that I really mean them. I love Gus. Completely, without reservation. 

 

For a moment he scrutinizes me, then, obviously satisfied, he nods and grins, reaching out his arms for me to pick him up. “I love you too,” he says. 

 

I scoop him up, enjoying the feel of his body so close to mine, the warmth and the softness of his skin. His cheek is smooth and his lips are moist and soothing as he kisses the corner of my mouth. I can’t remember when he started doing that. I hated it at first. Now I wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

 

“So,” Mel’s voice breaks the spell, “what brought you back? Don’t tell me you finally found your conscience.”

 

I bite back an angry retort. It wouldn’t help anyway. Mel’s never going to change her mind where I’m concerned, and honestly, I don’t really care. “No,” I shake my head, giving her my best tongue-in-cheek expression, “why should I? As long as you’re around, the world has all the conscience it needs.”

 

She narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn’t respond. Instead she looks at Deb who, totally out of character, stands at her side, watching us, but saying nothing. She hasn’t even tried to kiss me, and that worries me more than I can say.

 

“Hey, Sonny Boy,” I smile at Gus. “What do you think about some milk and cookies?” I glance and Justin and am glad to see that he understands. 

 

He holds out his hand, “Come on, Gus. Come with me.”

 

“Yeah, cookies,” my son cries excitedly and I hand him over to my lover. I pause for a moment, watching Justin go with Gus in his arms, Mick trotting at their heels. My lover. The thought rolls around in my head, then settles. It feels good to say it. My lover. Justin. My lover. My … No, I’m not going there. We haven’t discussed anything, haven’t settled a single bit. That will have to wait. And it can, because Justin’s not going anywhere. I have no doubt about it.

 

“Deb,” I say, after tearing my eyes away from the two most important people in my life. Her gaze comes up, and I can see the weariness in it, and something else I don’t like. Something that doesn’t fit. Not for Debbie Novotny. Helplessness. 

 

“Brian,” she sighs, and alarm bells start to ring in my head. She hasn’t called me little asshole or something along those lines. Something has to be very wrong. 

 

“So, what happened?” I ask, knowing that no other words are necessary. 

 

“He and Carl split up,” she replies without hesitation. We’ve known each other for too long to spend our time with bullshit. 

 

I have to admit that there isn’t a lot you can surprise me with. Especially not where Mikey is concerned. If there is a person I know even better than Deb, it’s Michael. We’ve been through everything together, and he was my anchor when my home seemed to be nothing but a never ending nightmare. He saved me in so many ways, and there won’t ever be enough I can do to thank him. Not that he ever expected any thanks, but still. 

 

So, to say that Mikey and I know each other well wouldn’t be an exaggeration. But hearing that he and Carl split was one of those things I never expected. I don’t even know why. I mean, people split all the time. Just look at me. I was never capable of having a serious relationship in the first place. Just ask Justin if you want to know what happened to my first try. Yet, where Michael and Carl were concerned, I had this feeling that they would work out. 

 

For one, Carl was absolutely smitten with Mikey. Don’t ask me why. I mean, Mikey is fine and all, but Carl is the living Ken-doll. He could have anyone. People like Carl are usually too superficial to bother to find out about all Michael has to offer. 

 

And Mikey. I still remember the night when we saw Carl. I was cruising some guy at Babylon, and there he was. All six feet, blue eyes and blond hair. A living, walking god. Their eyes met and … well, let’s just say it was the sappiest thing I’d ever seen. It was sickening, really. From that night on, they were inseparable. So, somewhere in the back of my mind they were a couple – not to be separated at any point. 

 

“He and Carl – what?” I know, I know, it doesn’t sound very smart, but hey, I’m so shocked, I have to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. 

 

She sighs again, even wearier this time. “Carl … couldn’t take it anymore. And I can’t really blame him. Michael has been treating him like shit since the moment you disappeared.”

 

Whoa. Let’s stop here for a moment. What does she mean with ‘since the moment I disappeared’? “So this is my fault?” I ask, cocking my head. 

 

“That is not fair,” Justin’s voice comes from the kitchen. “Brian didn’t do anything. Stop making it his fault all the time.”

 

I have to grin at his intervention. My knight in shining armor. Even if he only wears sweats and a shirt. He still my hero. You don’t agree? He survived being abused and beaten up for years, and is still Justin. How’s that for heroic? “It’s okay, Justin,” I tell him. “I’m used to it.” But knowing he is there, that he’s on my side, gives me a warm feeling of comfort that seems to spread through my whole body.

 

“Listen to him,” Mel snaps, “he can be an asshole all on his own. Why do you put up with him at all?” She shakes her head when Justin simply rolls his eyes. Fortunately Gus is happily munching his cookies and hasn’t been paying attention. 

 

“What’s your problem, anyway?” I ask, giving her an irritated look. If she wants to have a fight, she can have one. But not in front of my son. Not in front of a friend in need.

 

“My problem,” she hisses with eyes narrowed to slits, “is that apart from the fact that my life-partner lies in a hospital in a fucking coma, my son cries each night because his dada has deserted him.”

 

When I was still a teenager I was once kicked in the solar plexus by another boy who hated my gay guts. It hurt, a lot. But it was nothing compared to this. And thanks so fucking much, you stupid cunt, for delivering the blow. I’m sure you enjoyed it. 

 

Somehow I still manage to keep it from showing on my face. I’ll never give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s found a way to hurt me. “Well, that should be over, now that I’m back,” I tell her smoothly.

 

“Are you?” she asks, her eyes blazing. “Or is this just a phase until you decide you’ve had enough again? Because if it is, better tell me now. This way I can at least prepare Gus.” 

 

“Do you really enjoy being a bitch?” The words are said quietly, without accusation, more like stating a fact, and yet they’re like a sword slicing through the air as they hit home. Justin’s standing at my side, his gaze on Mel, his eyes very blue, and very clear. “Well,” he demands, “do you?”

 

“How can you defend him?” she wants to know. “He’s done nothing but hurt you.”

 

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he replies in the same tone, it’s almost conversational, while from the corner of his eyes he looks at Gus, careful not to alert my son to what’s going on over here. “So stay out of it.”

 

Mel holds up a hand, “Okay. Fine. Not my problem. But you have to agree that-“

 

“No,” he interrupts, “I don’t. And I won’t. Especially not now.” He nods pointedly into Gus’ direction. 

 

For a moment Mel looks as if she wants to argue, but then she sighs. “You’re right,” she admits. “Gus and I need to leave anyway.” Her eyes are back on me, cold, angry, “To see my daughter.”

 

I could tell her that I spent a whole night with her, that I watched her sleep through the glass, that I fell in love with her then, but I don’t. What Mel thinks of me isn’t important. Good or bad, it’s not what counts. I look at Justin. There’s only one person important to me now. I see Gus getting up as Mel summons him. Or two. 

 

Gus demands to be picked up for the good-bye and he kisses me soundly, then I set him down and he waves as his mom pulls him from the loft. My heart breaks a little, it’s like losing him, but then I snort at my own maudlin thoughts. Jesus, if I’m not careful I’m not going to recognize myself in the end. 

 

Chuckling inwardly I look at Deb and instantly I’m sober again. “What do you want from me?” I ask, not sure if there’s something I can do. Not sure if I even want to.

 

“Talk to him,” she pleads. 

 

“Deb-“ I start, but she interrupts.

 

“Please. It’s the only thing I can think of. He’s behaving like an idiot. The way he treats Justin.” She shakes her head and Justin’s eyes widen, and I can see he’s surprised she has even noticed. “You’re the only one he’ll listen to. Brian, he … you have to set him straight. Make it clear that there isn’t a future for the two of you. He just can’t let go.” 

 

“Do you think seeing me and Justin together would help?” I ask, uneasy with the whole idea. It needed more than just words the first time for Mikey to go out and smell the honey, I’m not sure words can be enough now. 

 

She shrugs, again the helplessness in her eyes touching a raw nerve deep inside of me. “You should see him. He … he’s so blind. Carl is the best fucking thing he ever had, and he’s throwing it away. And for what?” She looks at me apologetically, “No offense, Brian.”

 

“None taken,” I reply with a grin. “Besides, Carl is a lot better than me.”

 

“I beg to disagree,” Justin says, and I smile at him. God, I feel so right with him, it’s scary. 

 

Deb’s eyes suddenly take on real interest, “What’s this about you two? Does it mean-“

 

Justin holds up a hand, “Stop right there. We haven’t talked about anything. We wanted to, but-“

 

“Oh,” she shakes her head, “and you let me go on like this. I’ve said my two cents, and now it’s up to you.” Her eyes are on me, once again, “Please, Brian. Talk to him. I’m at the end of my rope. He and Carl really have something. I’d hate for Michael to end up alone and angry.”

 

“Because he’ll never have me.” 

 

“Because he’ll never have you,” she agrees. “And now, don’t let me keep you from whatever you were doing.” She winks and is out of the door before either of us can say good-bye. 

 

I rub my forehead, then chuckle, “That wasn’t too bad, huh?” 

 

Justin chuckles, too. “Well, apart from Mel being a real bitch, and this whole Michael-mess being dumped at your feet, I’d say your first morning back in the Pitts was a real success.”

 

“Yeah,” I agree, reaching for his hand, clasping it in mine. I need the contact, badly, now. “I don’t want to lose you ever again, Justin,” I say without looking up.

 

I hear him draw a sharp breath, then his voice, teary, but happy, “I love you so much, Brian.”

 

I squeeze his hand, my heart doing crazy flip-flops in my chest. “I’m not using this as an excuse to skip our talk,” I say, “but-“

 

“You want to see Michael,” he finishes my sentence and finally we look at each other. His eyes are so incredibly blue, so sparkling with life, I want to drown in them and never come up for air again. 

 

“I need to see him,” I say softly. “She is right, you know. It’s my fault, too. I liked the way he was always hanging at my heels, with this puppy dog expression, this hope that maybe one day …” I trail off, not feeling very proud for letting it happen.

 

“It’s not your fault, Brian. Michael is a grown man. He should’ve known for a long time.”

 

“You’re right,” I reply, knowing that he is. But it doesn’t change a thing. Mikey is my friend, my responsibility.

 

“You’re not God, Brian,” Justin reminds me, his gaze holding mine. “Not everything that goes wrong is your fault.”

 

I chuckle. “I used to think so. It’s what started this mess in the first place,” I admit. 

 

He reaches out, and his fingers run a soft path through my hair, “A god,” he breathes. “You’re beautiful enough to be one.”

 

“Don’t flatter me,” I warn, catching his hand and holding it to my chest. It’s warm, and alive, and it’s mine. I suddenly feel humbled and richer than any god could ever be. “My ego is big enough.”

 

He smiles, “I don’t mind. I love you the way you are.”

 

“Justin-“

 

He puts two fingers over my lips. “Shhh,” he says, then lets his lips trace mine for a moment before pulling back. “What do you say, coffee and cornflakes? And then we’re going to see Michael.” 

 

I raise a brow, suspicion dawning, “We?”

 

He shrugs, his eyes all innocence, “Well, you asked Debbie if seeing us together would help.” 

 

My lips twitch, “You’re a devil in an angel’s coat, Mr. Taylor.”

 

He shrugs again, innocence replaced with laughter. “This is your best friend after all, we should try all we can.”

 

He spins around, and tries to escape to the kitchen but I still manage to slap his butt. The only answer is his bright laughter, a sound I’m already addicted to. The world doesn’t look so scary anymore when Justin is part of it.


	9. Bygones

I’m not quite sure what I expected when we left the loft, but seeing Michael with eyes swollen and red standing in his comic book store wasn’t it. He draws in a sharp breath the moment he becomes aware of our presence, and I can feel Brian stiffen beside me. I know he was anxious to talk to his best friend, but at the same time I can also feel his reluctance to face what, without a doubt, will not be a pleasant encounter. Plus, as far as Michael is concerned, Brian’s still missing.

 

“Hi, Mikey,” Brian greets with a small smile playing around his lips. 

 

“Oh my god, Brian” Michael is more than a little surprised, and swallows hard, his eyes warming and slightly tearing up at the sight of his friend whom he believed lost, then cooling again when he turns to me. “Hey, Justin.”

 

“Michael,” I say, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Maybe I shouldn’t have come after all. Michael and Brian are close friends, and I’m – what? Brian’s lover? Yeah, I am that, but what else? We didn’t have time to talk, to decide what’s going to happen next, where we are going from here. Shit. I wonder why we can never have a time just for us? Why his so called friends always have to butt in? 

 

“So,” Brian’s tongue wanders in his cheek, “what have you been up to lately?”

 

“Me?” Michael’s voice sounds unnaturally high. “Aren’t you the one who should answer the question? I mean, you just left,” he snaps his fingers, clearly angry now, “like that. No word, no good-bye. Just one lousy letter for Justin. And now you’re back, or what?”

 

“Yeah,” Brian replies, trying for casual. But I can see the slight trembling in his fingers when they travel over the comic books. “Looks like it. As for the letter, I left one for you with my attorney. You would’ve gotten it in a week.”

 

“Oh, thanks so very fucking much,” Michael snaps, “you really are a friend.”

 

I see Brian wince and wonder if hurting each other is always part of loving each other. It probably is, pain and happiness combined for eternity. One would be nothing without the other. They’re proof that we’re alive and not afraid of living. I’m not talking about the kind of pain Ethan inflicted on me, mind. No, that was sick and there was no happiness. I’m talking about the kind of pain that makes your heart weep, because you feel deeply, and love completely, so much that it hurts. 

 

“Mikey-“ Brian tries, but Michael isn’t in the mood for listening.

 

“Don’t Mikey me!” he shouts. “Like you gave a shit about what happened to me when you disappeared without a trace.” He snorts in disbelief, “And to think that I defended you when Ted accused you of being a rat’s ass. And I’m not even talking about the fact that you were nowhere to be found when Linds gave birth to your daughter and fell into a coma.”

 

I see Brian blanch at that, but he quickly pulls himself together, “That’s low, Mikey, and you know it. I had no way of knowing what would happen.”

 

“No,” Michael agrees, but his eyes show clearly that he isn’t ready to forgive yet. “But you knew that Linds was going to have the baby soon. It was your duty to be around just in case.”

 

Brian rubs his forehead, then sighs, “You just forget one point, Mikey, it is Mel’s and Linds’ baby. It was meant to be that way from the start. Just like Gus.”

 

“Yeah, and we saw how well that one worked,” Michael snaps. 

 

Brian sighs, “What is this, Mikey? Is this because Carl left you or because Mel and Linds didn’t ask you to father their new child?”

 

I see Michael’s eyes widen, and I have to admit that I’m stunned, too, at Brian’s bluntness. He really has changed a lot. Four years ago he wouldn’t have asked that question. I want to cheer him on for it, but realize it would be the wrong thing to do right now. The situation is tense enough as it is. 

 

“Now who is shooting below the belt?” Michael asks, lowering his gaze to an invisible object on the floor. 

 

Brian sighs again, “True. And I’m sorry. But I didn’t come to listen to your insults, Mikey. So, I left a letter for Justin and not for you. Big deal. I … he’s important to me. And you are too,” he adds quickly before Michael can protest, “but in a different way. Justin is my … lover. You’re my friend.”

 

It makes me feel all warm inside to hear him talk that way, to hear him make it perfectly clear that I’m special. I wonder if I would’ve left him had he said those words four years ago, and sadly have to admit that the answer is yes. I was too superficial then to recognize the signals he was sending me constantly. The way he tried to show me he cared. I have grown up since then, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t been so stupid. 

 

“Did your … *lover*,” he emphasizes the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “ … tell you that Carl left me?” Michael asks, narrowing his eyes at me. “I bet he couldn’t wait to give you that piece of news.”

 

“You should know him better than that,” Brian replies quietly. “Justin isn’t the guy who gets off on the pain of others. In fact, he never said a word. I heard it from your mother.”

 

“Mom?” Michael seems completely surprised, and reminds me once again of the fact that he’s the most clueless person I know. His mother has been cleaning up his shit since he appeared on this world. He should build her a fucking altar for all she’s done for him. 

 

Ignoring the question, Brian walks over to another shelf of comic books. Keeping his eyes on them, he continues. “What happened, Mikey? You were so sickeningly perfect, it made my guts hurt. Why did he leave the ship?”

 

Michael stares at his shoes, but I can still see him frowning. “He doesn’t understand,” he mumbles almost inaudibly.

 

“Doesn’t understand what?” Brian asks, and I wonder if he really heard the words or simply guessed them. He and Michael have been friends for so long, know each other so well, it wouldn’t surprise me.

 

“What being a best friend means,” Michael answers. He shuffles his feet a little, then opens a drawer underneath his desk, searching for something, or at least pretending to do so. “He doesn’t see how special we are.”

 

“That’s bullshit, Mikey, and you know it,” Brian says in that almost bored tone. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t look at his best friend. “Carl adored you. I bet he still does. What did you do?”

 

“Me?” Michael cries, throwing his hands in the air in a helpless gesture. “Why does it have to be something I did? Why is everyone blaming me all of a sudden?”

 

Brian turns finally, his tongue in his cheek, his eyes clear and knowing, “Because Carl was so besotted with you, he couldn’t see straight. And all of a sudden he goes up and leaves. The only explanation I can find for it is you.” He walks over to the counter where Michael is standing, and looks right in the other man’s eyes, “What happened, Mikey?”

 

Michael’s eyes flicker to me for a moment, then back to Brian. “Does he have to be here?” 

 

“I can leave,” I offer, “No problem.”

 

Brian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Justin,” he calls me, “stay.” I stop in mid-motion and he turns back to Michael, “I want him to stay. First, because I have the feeling he’s part of this whole mess, and second, well, second, well, second because he’s … with me. I want him to stay.”

 

The last words are spoken quietly, and even though he’s not looking at me I know they’re mine. He said them to let me know I’m important. And shit, if I didn’t have tears in my eyes that very moment. How could I ever have been so stupid as to think that this man didn’t care for me at all? Okay, again, he wouldn’t have done something like this four years ago, but it was there, deep down, just hidden a little better. He’s never allowed himself to act so openly before, and I know I have Peter to thank for it. He’s worked a miracle, and I’m glad he is my friend now. 

 

“Fine,” Michael agrees after a moment. “I just didn’t want him to hear this. But maybe he has to. Brian,” he reaches out, grabbing Brian’s hand, “when you left, I … it felt as if my heart was ripped from my chest. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Mikey,” Brian replies and I see Michael’s eyes light up. “But … not in that way. I’ve always loved you. You‘ve been my friend … my savior. You can’t even imagine how many times you saved me from … doing something stupid. But … it’s never going to happen. I’m with Justin now.” He laughs a little, almost helplessly, “And if I’m honest with myself, then I have to admit that I’ve been with him for a long time. Fuck, I never stood a chance. It was Justin from the very first moment.”

 

Michael stares at him, and suddenly laughs, “Fuck! Emmett always said you didn’t just meet by accident. He once called it fate and I laughed. God, I was a fool. There I was, always at your beck and call, waiting for you to finally smell the honey, and then a little twink comes along and just snaps you right out under my nose.”

 

“Michael,” Brian looks at his best friend, a trace of sadness in his voice, and I know it’s because he can’t give Michael what he wants. “There was never a chance.”

 

“Don’t say that!” Michael shouts and pulls his hand away. “You don’t know that. I … I know I had all these boyfriends. David, Ben … now Carl. But they were … it doesn’t mean anything, Brian. They weren’t important. It was you. It’s always been you! And now you’re telling me that I was just making it up. I was there, Brian. I was there. You gave me these little … hopes. Hints, that maybe one day we’d be together.”

 

Brian rubs his forehead and I just know that a headache must be pounding underneath. “Michael,” he says on a sigh, “I … I’m sorry. I know I … there is no excuse for what I did. I know I let you believe … but it wasn’t really consciously that I did it. It kind of … happened. And it was flattering to have you that way. Always at my beck and call, always ready to defend me when nobody else would.”

 

He turns his head and looks at me, “Justin never did that. Well, maybe at the beginning. But soon he started challenging me. It annoyed the hell out of me, but I also respected him for it. He was so young, barely eighteen, but he was still questioning my behavior. I think I fell for him then.” He suddenly smiles, and I can see he’s surprised that he’s kind of admitted now that he loves me. 

 

‘I love you too’ I mouth, and grin when he rolls his eyes. Some things never seem to change. 

 

“But … he left you. He betrayed you with the fiddler-guy-“

 

“Don’t you think he’s paid enough?” Brian asks, his gaze still on me, but it’s sad now, the smile gone and replaced by regret. “Besides,” he turns back to Michael, “it’s really none of your business. Mikey, I love you. But I don’t want to choose.” He becomes very serious and his eyes seem to bore into Michael’s, “Don’t make me.” He doesn’t say it, but the words are clear in the room. ‘Don’t make me, because you’re going to lose.’

 

I know, I shouldn’t feel good about it. There is Michael, embarrassing himself, throwing away all his pride, and falling to pieces right in front of me, but I can’t help the wild flip-flops my heart does in my chest. And even though I realize that it isn’t really about choosing, and more about making a point, I know that Brian couldn’t make it more clear. I’m part of his life now, and he’s finally accepted it. We still have to talk, but everything looks a lot clearer to me now. I have the certain feeling that this time we’re gonna make it.

 

Michael looks at Brian for a long time, then he nods slowly, “Okay. I’ve got it. But now you have to understand that I can’t do this. So maybe …,” he swallows visibly, “maybe we should just … stay away from each other for a while.”

 

Brian flinches as if he’s been hit, clearly surprised by the reaction, not expecting it in the least. Strangely enough I think it’s fine. For the first time Michael doesn’t just give in, but stands his ground. As much as I hate seeing Brian hurt by it, I think in the long run, it’s the first step towards a healthy relationship between the two of them. 

 

“You … mean that?” Brian asks, slowly recovering from the shock. 

 

Michael frowns, then nods, “Yeah. I think I do. I think I … need time to think about this.” He doesn’t look at Brian now, instead stares at the bookshelf behind his friend. “I … want to be your friend, Brian, but I …,” he shakes his head, releasing a long breath. “Right now, I can’t. I’m sorry, Brian. But this is hard.”

 

Brian says nothing for a moment, then nods as well. “I suppose I have to accept that. But … I want us to stay friends. You’re important for me, Mikey. I need you in my life.”

 

“I’m glad,” Michael replies quietly, still staring at the books. “Even though I kind of hate Justin and you right now, I’m glad. Maybe I’ll leave town for a while, ask Emmett if he can replace me in the store for a few days. I need to clear my head and then … Maybe we can talk again then.”

 

Brian nods again, “I’d like that, too.” 

 

“Good,” Michael says. “See you then?”

 

“Yeah,” Brian turns and walks over to me. “You ready?”

 

“I’m good,” I say and smile, hating the deep sadness in his eyes, the pain of loss. Michael has been a constant in his life for twenty years. He hasn’t lost him, and I’m sure they will be friends again. But I also know that their relationship has changed today, and that it’ll never be what it once was. We all know it, and it hurts. But it’s all part of growing up and moving on, part of life. 

 

“Then let’s go,” he tries for a smile and fails, but he takes my hand and we leave the comic book store like that, not looking back. 

 

As soon as we’re around the next corner, Brian stops and leans against the house wall. “Jesus,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “What the fuck happened in there?”

 

I put a hand on his shoulder and rub it gently. “You finally told him the truth,” I say softly. “I’m sorry he … took it so badly.”

 

“We had our share of … fights. After the party for his thirtieth birthday it was the worst, but … he’s never been like this.” He shakes his head a little disbelievingly. “I never thought it was so bad for him.”

 

“He’s loved you for so long,” I tell him, “and now he needs to find a new reason, a new passion maybe.”

 

“I let this happen, Justin,” Brian says after a moment. “It was … kind of nice. God,” he rubs a palm over his face, “I’ve been so stupid.”

 

“Brian-“ I start, but before I can tell him that Michael’s going to get over it eventually, his cell-phone rings. 

 

“Yeah?” he answers, then frowns. “If you’re calling to fucking insult … Mel? Mel, are you crying?” His alarmed eyes meet mine as he’s trying to listen to whatever Mel’s telling him. “Mel? Slow down, okay? What’s wrong?”

 

Suddenly he blanches, then sways, and I instantly wrap an arm around his waist to steady him. “Brian?” I whisper concernedly. “What’s wrong?”

 

He absentmindedly shakes his head, his concentration on Mel. “I … Mel? Wh-what happened?” I can see he’s listening, and swaying again, before he shuts down the phone. A moment later it drops from his hand and hits the ground. I want to pick it up, but am afraid to let him go. If anything, he’s even more unsteady than before. 

 

“Brian? Brian!” I hate to shout at him, but that finally seems to register somewhere in his mind, because his eyes come up. I gasp at the tortured expression in them. “What?” I ask, tightening my arm around his waist, feeling strangely as if I have to protect him somehow.

 

“That was Mel,” he whispers, his voice rough like sandpaper. He frowns, “She …s he called from the hospital.”

 

Alarm rushes through me, “The hospital?”

 

He nods, then rubs his forehead. His hand shakes badly. 

 

“Is something wrong with the baby?” I want to know.

 

“The baby?” He looks at me for a moment as if it’s a completely foreign concept for him, before he snaps out of it, “No, no, the baby is fine.”

 

“Then what happened?” I feel my heart thumping in my chest, and know already that it has to be something very bad. I’ve never seen Brian like this. Well, almost never. He was pretty shaken when I returned into his life after the bashing, but it wasn’t like this. Never like this. 

 

He blinks, and his eyes focus on mine, “It’s Lindsay,” he says and licks his lips, “Lindsay died half an hour ago.”


End file.
